By Moonlight
by Aquaphobe
Summary: Asleep, Draco is hunted by his fears; awake, he is haunted by regrets. Hermione feels neither of these things, but the emptiness left by the war drives her out of her bed every night with an itch in her feet and an ache in her chest. When the two hapless wanderers stumble across one another, how will their crumbling worlds be affected? (Post DH, Eighth Year Fic - DAILY UPDATES)
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter – just a messed up mind.

A/N: Each chapter will be around 1000 words long – I am capable of writing much, much longer, but I wanted to challenge myself by keeping them short! Also, the title of each chapter will be the name of the song that I listened to while writing it. Please feel under no obligations to listen to them, though. The name of the singer for this chapter is Gary Jules.

EDIT: I'm going back through this fic from the very beginning and giving it a bit of a freshen up, as there are a heck of a lot of mistakes! The plan is that I'll restart updating once I finish tidying up the most recent chapter.

**By Moonlight**

1

_Mad World_

Tense muscles relaxed, and fast, sharp breathing slowed into a long sigh—

_Just breathe..._

_In, and out._

—And again_—_

_In, and out._

—Heavy eyelids lifted. The silver eyes beneath skipped over the darkness.

_In, and out._

Draco's heart thumped hard and fast from the remnants of his dream – from the remnants of his nightmare – but with every moment that passed he could feel the nervous clamour inside of him calming. Quelling.

_In, and out_.

Fingers with only the barest hint of a tremble reached up to run over his neck. He knew it wasn't real, but... But somehow...

_In, and out_.

But somehow he could still feel the snake fangs an inch deep in his throat.

It had felt so real; it did every time.

_In, and out..._

Releasing one final breath, Draco Malfoy let the darkness soak into his skin like a cooling balm on his frayed nerves. His forehead was clammy with a cold sweat that stuck his pale hair to his brow, and the bed sheets were caught in tangles around his legs. Like arms. Or _coils_.

The eighteen-year-old gulped and pushed himself upright when the darkness around him started to shift into looming, flickering figures. He knew it was his imagination, but…

He felt caged in, his chest tight with memories and images and voices and _feelings_ and _regrets_ and—

— and he desperately clawed aside the thick, plush bed curtains; moonlight flooded over him in a pale glow of—_it's okay now_—light from the enchanted window.

It was okay, because here he was, not trapped liked he'd thought, but in a frighteningly familiar room. It had been his home for years, and had only ever offered him comfort and protection. Even when he was at his worst during sixth year, the sounds of Crabbe and Goyle's mulish snores and Nott's restless mumbling were there to comfort him.

But now, the room was silent.

No Vince.

No Greg.

No Theo.

None of the other Death Eater's children. He didn't want to remember the fate of the other boys, because whenever he did, he recalled that he was the lucky one. They might not have been his friends, but they were damn close. The closest he'd ever had, in fact. And now they were either dead or condemned to rot in the darkest corners of Azkaban.

And here was Draco, somehow spared from Azkaban; on nights like this, his sanity was the price. Draco was sure that the guilt was consuming him from the inside out, _because he didn't deserve this freedom!_

The only company that the blond had from his own thoughts was the silencing and locking charms humming with quiet ferocity around Zabini's bed.

Zabini, the only Slytherin boy in Draco's year to remain neutral from the very beginning, and until the very end. The only one who'd never once attempted to befriend Draco, or to pander to him, or to confront him. There had always been nods of greeting and acceptance during their earlier years, but the dark skinned boy had always remained steadfastly on the outskirts, observing from a distance.

When the Dark Lord had returned, Zabini had somehow made himself as scarce as possible around his housemates. He'd had enough sense to cast protective spells around his bed and his belongings from that point on; no one aside from Draco had seemed to pay him any mind, because Zabini had always been fastidious when it came to his personal space. After all, he'd cast silencing charms every night for as long as Draco could remember.

No, Zabini had always been watchful and wary. It was just amplified now more than ever. The nods were gone, the social graces cast aside, and all that remained was his watchfulness. His wariness.

Upon returning to British wizarding society from wherever it was he'd disappeared to in the summer following the war, Zabini had made it astonishingly clear to everyone near him that he felt Draco wasn't to be trusted. In the few days since they'd returned to Hogwarts to complete their final year, the most he'd offered Draco was the faint curl of his lip.

Really, the blond was sure he deserved it. He couldn't bring himself to resent Zabini his suspicions or his self-preserving actions. After all, why would the other boy draw unfavourable attention to himself by associating with a confirmed Death Eater when he was already in a precarious position, simply by being part of Slytherin house?

There wasn't a single person who didn't watch the entirety of Slytherin house with mistrust anymore. Not one.

And if even the innocent, first year Slytherins were being shunned then that made Draco doubly reviled by the general populace.

He was doubted and scorned by every last person that passed him, and he couldn't bring himself to blame them. He wasn't exactly number one in his own books recently, let alone anyone else's.

But honestly? The eighteen year old couldn't bring himself to care.

Their opinions didn't matter to him. He was living his very own kind of hell here, trapped inside of his head. He had no space for other peoples' hatred too. And it wasn't like he could change their opinions by worrying about it.

So he attended his classes, ate the bare minimum at breakfast, lunch and dinner, ignored the world around him, studied and slept until he was forced awake by his nightmares. He was on autopilot, just like everyone else that had returned here. At least he _saw_ that, though. At least he knew that the war had messed him up. At least he didn't _laugh_ and _smile_ and _pretend_ like everything was alright. Because he knew that behind those masks of happiness, they were feeling pain and distress too. Perhaps he should envy them for being able to ignore it, but he didn't want their denial. He deserved this – it was his punishment for the life he'd allowed himself to be led into without even the slightest hint of resistance. And after he'd mourned the loss of his old lifestyle and his old delusions, he would pick himself up and put his life back together. He had no plans to remain broken forever.

Draco rubbed at his stinging eyes and stood up, gathering his wand and his cloak from where he'd left it to crease on the floor. Draping the thick, dark material over his shoulders and stepping into his shoes, Draco walked towards the dormitory door. He cast a nonverbal disillusionment charm on himself as he went.

After all, there was really no point going back to bed when he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep for the rest of the night. Which was a shame, really. As terrifying as his nightmares were, at least when he was in them he wasn't being tormented by his guilt and loneliness and fears.

...

A/N: Please leave a review. Let me know what you think!

(Edited 22nd Jan 2017)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter – just a messed up mind.

A/N: I was very surprised by the response the first chapter received. Wow, guys! Thank you!

Singer for this chapter: Regina Spektor

**By Moonlight**

2

_Blue Lips_

Her shoulder was numb. There was nothing there. No feeling at all.

Damn, his head was heavy.

She considered shaking him awake with her free hand, but thought that might appear to be too callous of her. It was just that she had a crick in her neck and his soft ginger hair kept tickling her chin, and she wanted to turn the page of her book but couldn't move her hand. Couldn't move her hand from his clasp, and the warm, clammy dampness of his palm was slick against hers. Their intertwined fingers were slippery, and really…

Well, it just wasn't pleasant. Or hygienic.

Plus he was snoring in increasingly loud rumbles, right next to her ear.

She'd never been a particularly touchy-feely person, and this whole experience of being literally '_tangled up_' with someone should have made her fairly uncomfortable.

Should have, but then Hermione wasn't sure she felt much of anything anymore. Certainly not enough for things to truly bother her. And it probably made her a terrible person, but quite frankly, she just didn't know how to act around Ron anymore. Especially not when he got all weepy and clingy and—

No, it _undoubtedly_ made her a bad person. Her boyfriend was grieving still because of the war, and here she was, unable to muster much of anything in the face of his mourning. He wanted her comfort and she gave what she could, but that really wasn't saying much.

There wasn't much of Hermione Granger at all anymore, to be perfectly frank. She just wasn't there. The closest she ever got to feeling irked or upset these days was entirely to blame on the small things, like wanting to put some socks on because her toes were getting cold, or the way her bra strap kept slipping down, or how Ron's sticky, humid breath kept washing over her neck.

But what bothered her the most. What stirred in her the need to _move_ was that her – shoulder – was – _numb_.

And for some reason, that made her skin crawl.

Ron sighed a long, gusty sigh just at that moment, and turned his face so that his nose squished unpleasantly up against her throat, she got a mouthful of slightly musty smelling hair, and the weight of his entire torso smooshed unappealingly against her arm.

That was it.

That was _enough_.

She had to get away from him.

With the barest hint of a grimace, Hermione pushed her book to one side (along with the arm Ron had draped across her lap) and slowly peeled herself away from her boyfriend, untangling her hand from his and edging out from beneath the covers. She grabbed her wand from where it had been sat beside her, shining a dim, continuous lumos, and flicked the spell away with a silent, "_Finite Incantatem_."

This, of course, had the unfortunate side effect of switching off the silencing spell she'd put up in order to spare her only dorm mate from his incessantly heavy breathing. She may not have ever gotten on with Parvati on a personal level, but she understood that the other girl had lost her closest friend during the Battle of Hogwarts, and ever since she'd been very emotionally delicate. To be quite frank, having Ron's bellowing snorts wake her up every few minutes was the last thing the poor girl needed.

The frizzy haired eighteen-year-old slipped around her bed curtains and recast the spell as swiftly as possible.

On the other side, it took her only a moment to gather the few possessions she needed. The first thing she required were her thickest, warmest socks – her toes had been cold prior to making contact with the chill wooden floor; now they were beginning to turn white. The second was to grab her red fleece jacket from where it stayed neatly folded on top of her trunk. Even though it was early September, the corridors beyond the Common Room were draughty and chilled.

A quick glance at her watch informed her that it was almost two o'clock in the morning, meaning that she'd managed an extra hour in bed tonight before resorting to her habitual nightly wanderings. Somehow that seemed like a shame, because the castle was so beautiful and peaceful at night, like it had been frozen in time centuries ago, and remained unchanged. The reparations after the war had returned it to them almost faultless.

It took a moment of silent consideration before she snapped out of her reverie and returned to the present. Checking herself over a final time, Hermione tugged at the waistband of her tatty jeans up a little higher on her hips. The addition of socks and her baggy, fading red fleece meant that she was ready to go.

Casting a disillusionment charm over herself, she crept from the room, easing the door shut behind her as she went.

The hallway beyond was silent, and her socked feet padded noiselessly over the floorboards, avoiding the areas that she recalled were prone to creaking. Descending the staircase, she made her way through the common room with barely a glance at the couches around the fire. She already knew that Harry and Ginny would be wrapped around each other as they slept, comforted by the warm crackling of the fireplace.

Ginny's dormitory was entirely empty now, and although they'd all long since figured out a way to let the boys ascend the girls' staircase (several variations of '_Wingardium Leviosa_' and '_Mobilicorpus_' worked reasonably well, as long as the boys weren't attempting to cast the spells on themselves), Ginny spent as little time in there as possible. She'd explained that there were simply too many memories, and Hermione could understand completely.

When she'd closed the portrait hole behind her, Hermione allowed her brain to switch off, her feet taking control and guiding her in whichever direction they fancied.

Some nights, they led her outside to the edge of the lake where she paced restlessly and skimmed pebbles across the waters edge until the Giant Squid plucked them from the surface.

Others, they brought her to the library, where she settled at a table with a random book and read until her eyes burned.

They even took her to the Entrance Hall, where she'd run her fingers along the solid wooden tables and crane her neck back to stare up at the enchanted ceiling, remembering the devastation of the battle and trying her hardest to recall her emotions.

Tonight though, her feet were taking her up into the Astronomy tower.

Hermione honestly didn't think to question this choice; tonight was just a night for climbing many steps and looking out of high views. There was no rhyme or reason to the choice, no urge to revisit other people's gruesome war memories. Not tonight. It was just that her feet decided it was the right place to go.

And as she climbed to the very top and opened the door to survey the open space, she thought that perhaps she understood why.

Standing on the very edge of the battlements – hands gripping the angular tops of the ramparts as if at any moment he might haul himself up and over the edge – was Draco Malfoy.

Hermione's breath caught briefly in her throat before releasing in a plume of white vapour from her mouth.

Head tilted up at the sky as if in prayer, the light of the moon cast his sharp, pale features in an ethereal blue glow, leaving his face starkly pale against the backdrop of the night.

It struck the Gryffindor that, by the blue moonlight, Malfoy looked incredibly human.

...

A/N: Please, everyone, take the time to leave a review. Let me know what you think!

(Edited 22 Jan 2017)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter – just a messed up mind.

A/N: Thank you to all of you who've favourite and followed.

Band for this chapter: The National

**By Moonlight**

3

_Exile, Vilify_

"_I have no wand at the moment... I cannot defend myself."_

"_I am more defenceless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still you have not acted..."_

"_No harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived... I can help you, Draco."_

Draco couldn't help but hate the old man for his words. No harm had been done? All the harm in the world had been done, and Draco felt the weight of Albus Dumbledore's life acutely, where it rested on his shoulders. He may not have delivered the killing spell, but he had led the Death Eaters into the castle, he had disarmed the wizard, and had stepped aside and watched as he was carelessly murdered.

"_Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."_

But he was, wasn't he? His actions had _not_ been harmless. Not to any sane person.

Draco's thoughts span and swam in the bright, cool light of the waxing moon, the way they had each night he'd scaled the cold stone stairs and searched the sky for some sign of divine forgiveness. He'd made this trip every night since he'd been back at the castle, climbing all the way up here to revisit his memories. No matter the weather, no matter the lateness of the hour, no matter the amount of sleep he'd had (or rather, lack thereof), he dragged himself up out of bed and along the same corridors every night. By the end of the school year, he imagined the path would be worn into the stone, and the lack of sleep obvious in the bruises beneath his eyes.

It was the least he felt that he could give.

He was responsible for taking hand in ending a human life, after all. It wouldn't have mattered if it were Albus Dumbledore, a Death Eater, a mud— _muggleborn_, or a defenceless muggle child. Every life carried the same weight, in the end.

He felt like his soul had been ripped in two, and he could only now appreciate Dumbledore's words.

"_I don't think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe..."_

There was movement in the corner of Draco's eye; he paused, breath still in his chest.

Of all things – the noise of her shuffling feet, the horrid, garish red _thing_ she wore, or the click of the door behind her – it was her quiet sigh that announced to him exactly who it was.

The eighteen-year-old's pride wanted nothing more than to correct his defeated, slumped posture in front of the Gryffindor, but he didn't allow himself even that much. Here, he deserved this humiliation.

Draco deserved this.

He released the breath he had been holding in a long, billowing sigh.

The blond closed his eyes, the bright moon a bright flare, even behind his eyelids.

"Granger," he said by way of greeting, voice not much more than a mumble. He didn't turn to face her.

"Malfoy," she replied. There was no inflection.

A silence stretched between them. He reopened his eyes, re-familiarising himself with the pinpricks of distant stars, the dark velvet blue of the night and the haloed paleness of the moon above them. After the moment of silence passed, in which neither had felt it necessary to say a word, Granger apparently took his lack of hostility as unspoken permission to join him.

She padded quietly up alongside him and stopped only a few feet away.

Finally, he turned to her, annoyance beginning to bubble up through the ever-present grief and guilt. Her face was washed out, the few freckles on her nose darker than usual under the moon's glow, and bruises beneath hers eyes tell tale of little sleep. Her hair was such a mess around her head that he could practically feel the static in it.

"What are you doing here?" He'd intended to sound demanding, but it came out weak.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Granger echoed, eyes flicking over his face.

"Mind your own bloody business." The furrow in his brow and the curl of his lips were merely shadows of his usual haughty scowl.

They both lapsed into quietness again, looking away from each other to study the night sky.

"I supposed I'm here because I wanted to see the stars."

He hadn't honestly expected her to answer his question, so when she did he felt a brief twinge of surprise.

"Hmph," was his only reply.

"Did you know that every single star in the night sky is another sun, in another galaxy? And every one of those suns is orbited by planets and somewhere, light years away, there's most likely other forms of sentient life?"

He hadn't known that – hadn't ever heard anything like it – but he supposed he shouldn't be surprised that the Know It All was going to try and shove her unwanted knowledge down his throat. Salazar forbid anyone go ten minutes without being reminded of her _incredible_ intellect. It sounded like muggle gibberish anyway, and even if he didn't want them all dead, he didn't care for their outlandish beliefs.

"What's it to me?" The words slipped out of his mouth in a low mutter.

"I suppose it just puts our insignificance into perspective." She hummed tunelessly for a moment, before continuing. "Somewhere out there is another planet capable of sustaining life. Somewhere far, far away there are probably millions of them, actually. And all with intelligent, living creatures eating and fighting and sleeping."

Definitely muggle propaganda. He grunted in order to communicate his tired disgust.

Granger began to speak again after the small noise, like it had been encouragement to continue rather than antipathy. "Some people even believe that there are parallel universes out there. That there are mirror images of us living, breathing... Perhaps making different decisions under the circumstance we are given.

"Don't you think that's fascinating?" She turned to look at him again, and there was little of anything on her face that gave away her intentions. All she did was stare up at him with an intensity that made him want to move away. "That somewhere out there, there might be another you, and that mirror of Draco Malfoy might be an entirely different person. He might have done things differently.

"He might be _better_."

For some reason, the words hit Draco like he'd been struck. He flinched, spinning to pin a glare on the Gryffindor.

But she was turning away and shuffling in her fuzzy green socks towards the door, and the spiral staircase beyond.

With that she was gone, just as swiftly as she'd arrived.

He might have called after her— "_How dare you, Granger, talking about things you could never understand? How _dare_ you vilify me?!"_—but the words stuck in his throat. They lodged themselves there in a knot, and the very moment the door clicked shut behind her, Draco choked on a dry sob.

He didn't cry, because quite frankly he didn't have it in him. That wasn't to say that it didn't hurt, though. Especially not in his self-inflicted exile.

...

A/N: Please take the time to leave a review. Everyone who's ever posted fanfiction will hopefully understand how much even the smallest of comments can change a writer's day!

(Edited 22nd Jan 2017)


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter – just a messed up mind.

A/N: I have a few brilliant reviewers to thank, since yesterday's update – you have revitalised me for today's chapter! Thank you!

Band for this chapter: Daughter

**By Moonlight**

4

_Youth_

Lunchtime was just as loud and rowdy as ever. It was hardly a shock to find the boys placing bets and wagering loudly on the very first national Quidditch match since the war had ended, and the teachers were all turning a blind eye to their antics.

It was the Cannons versus the Harpies apparently, and although she cared very little for the sport, thus paying her housemates almost no attention, the general gist of it was that everyone was winding up Ron, the only Cannons supporter. She gathered that everyone was teasing him about how the Cannons were probably going to lose to a bunch of girls.

Perhaps she should have been more offended by this insinuation than she was – lord knew Ginny looked just about ready hex them – but in all honesty, she didn't care. The boys weren't actually prone to sexism, and Hermione had bigger things to do.

Like prodding at her sandwich.

Well, that and inconspicuously stealing glances at the end Slytherin table.

She would be lying if she said that finding Draco Malfoy up in the Astronomy tower hadn't been unexpected, or that his dejected attitude wasn't a surprising turnaround from his snooty pride, but none of it had actually _shocked_ Hermione. She supposed she just didn't have it in her anyone.

One of her theories was that being so high strung and on edge for the entire war, as well as during the repercussions in the following months had burnt her out. The last day she could actually recall honestly smiling, laughing or crying was the morning after they'd been given their Order of Merlins. That was the day she got Crookshanks back.

After that, nothing.

She wasn't like the other Gryffindors, in the way that they seemed to burn brighter, the more pressure was put on them. They were flames, resistant to the elements – positively _Fiendfyres_, actually, when they were angry. If they got stubbed down or blown out, they all just bounced back up.

Hermione had thought that she was like that too, not too long ago. She'd been proud and so stubbornly sure of herself.

But then, after enduring months of war – countless days of running and hiding and fighting for their lives – it had taken the smallest of provocation for her flame to flicker out. No attempt to reignite it had succeeded. Her wick had burnt too low.

That wasn't to say she was suffering. She was good at pretending she was like the others; she acted her old part very well, she thought. The only one who ever gave her long, lingering looks was Luna.

Anyway, it was all fine, because living blank and burnt out was... safe. It was indifference to pain and fear. She was fully functioning again – far more than she had been _during_ the war. Maybe even before it.

At least she could remain comfortable in the knowledge that she wasn't going to break down the same way that Malfoy almost had the previous night. The young man was a total _wreck_. Even now, he was sat at the end of his table with eyes so deeply smudged from lack of sleep that he looked like he'd been on the receiving end of a few nasty punches.

It didn't help that he was sat far, far away from the rest of the Slytherins, clearly ostracised from their ranks where he'd previously ruled as Slimey Slytherin Overlord. He kept his posture proper and ate slowly and calmly, but...

But she could tell a faker when she saw one – that kind of came with the ground of being one herself. It was sort of ironic, how she related more to _him_ than she did to her friends.

Hermione was so consumed by her thoughts that she didn't realise everyone was collecting their stuff to leave for their next classes, until Ron poked her in the side. She jumped a little and was sure to shoot him a disparaging look, all pursed lips and drawn eyebrows, which made him grin goofily.

"C'mon, Hemrione, lunch is nearly over. S'not like _you_ to be zoning out when we've got lessons to go to. What're you thinking about?" He sounded amused at her preoccupation.

"Oh, nothing," she waved him off, standing up and brusquely pulling the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "Just thinking about that potions essay that Slughorn set us."

Ron shared an eye roll with Harry, which Hermione was sure to berate them for on the way out of the room. She pretended not to notice the stormy grey eyes following her out.

...

The rest of the day passed in the same fashion as every other that they'd spent at Hogwarts since term had restarted. They'd been here almost two weeks now, and it seemed that habits had already formed.

Lessons flew by and dinner was over before she knew it. After that, they returned to the common room where a short hour or so of games and homework commenced, before the facades began to crack, and no one could put off remembering anymore. It seemed that all of them – all of the older students especially – were still bleeding from the war.

During the day they were recklessly charging ahead, youthful and wild and stubborn enough not to ever admit defeat, but by the time the evening rolled around they'd temporarily worn themselves out.

The Gryffindors were bright fires with human lungs, and their flames smoked them out from the inside. They corrupted themselves, and they needed the time until the next day came along to recuperate. They'd bounce back up every time, but sometimes Hermione wondered if they shouldn't just stay down for a while. Give themselves longer to recover.

Then again, she was just an empty silhouette – a shadow – of the rest of them. She was beyond healing, she supposed.

At least Harry and Ginny were managing, curled up together in a chaste embrace. And Dean and Seamus, with their shoulders bumping every now and then as they stared blankly into the fire. And Luna, perched on Neville's knee, letting him hug her so hard that her ribs probably creaked. And Parvati, surrounded by the sixth year girls, arms around each other as they quietly wept.

Hermione would watch it all quietly, as one by one they'd disappear up to their beds – even a few who weren't Gryffindors, like Luna, stayed almost every night now.

Eventually, Hermione would bring Ron up to her room where she'd close the bed curtains around them with silencing and locking spells, and she'd let him kiss her and touch her and hold her until he cried himself to sleep.

It was wash, rinse, repeat.

She knew he needed this and that he loved her; she'd loved him too, not long ago. That was the one thing she wished to change, because she missed being capable of feeling love.

But then the memories might come back, and bring the pain and the loneliness and the sense of abandonment. She'd clamp down on the possibility of trying to open up, as his head made her shoulder numb and the itch returned to her feet.

Every night was, inevitably, the same.

And tonight, just like every other night, Hermione remained awake long after everyone else.

Her chest was tight as she clambered out of bed, spelling the curtains behind her, throwing her jacket on and pulling a pair of fluffy blue socks almost up to her knees.

For once, though, she knew where she was going before she'd even left the common room.

...

A/N: I can see my stats going wild and the follower count for this story just keeps rising – let me hear your thoughts?

(Edited 22nd Jan, 2017)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter – just a messed up mind.

A/N: ... After the lack of reviews for the last chapter, I'm nervous again... I promise things WILL get more interesting. Just give it a little time.

Band for this chapter: Keane

**By Moonlight**

5

_Bend and Break_

Somehow, he'd known she'd show up again, even before he'd climbed the stairs. Perhaps it was the fact he'd caught her watching him at every meal that tipped him off.

He hated it, but he wouldn't back down from whatever kind of challenge she was trying to make, because he needed to be here.

He _needed_ it. It was his only escape from the accusing eyes and the contempt of his schoolmates. It was the only place that he could be alone with his memories. Here it was him, his self-loathing and his memories. Nobody and nothing else.

—"_I am more defenceless than you can have dreamed of finding me._.."—

But she was going to ruin that, and he was already bent beneath the strength of his emotions _without_ the added pressure of her cutting words and her dirty blood—

Draco felt the rush of self-disgust from the night before stir in the bottom of his stomach as the door opened, the Gryffindor edging out from behind it. There was a gusty wind tonight, which forced her hair into even wilder disarray than usual. The clouded sky cast shadows over her small face.

He'd hope in vain that she wouldn't turn up; he'd known he was an idiot for think that way.

"Granger," he hissed with as much menace as he could muster, glancing back over his shoulder with a fierce glower.

The Gryffindor ambled easily up along beside him, mirroring the positions they'd taken ontheir last encounter.

"Malfoy," she reiterated.

—"_... I can help you, Draco._" —

Draco clenched his teeth, the muscles of his jaw tightening as he glared down at the plain looking girl. He didn't want a repeat of the night before. He just wanted to be left alone.

"Granger," he grated out a second between gritted teeth. "Why the _hell_ are you here again?"

"Why are _you_ here?" She fired back at him effortlessly, studying a sky that was not nearly as clear and bright as the previous night.

"_Don't_ mess around with me. Don't make that mistake, you filthy little—"

The blond bit his tongue, his sentence suspended in the air between them. His collar whipped up in the bitter wind, and somehow it was only as their eyes met that he realised his fingers were numb with cold where they gripped the chilled stone ramparts.

"Yes?" She question, head tilted questioningly and expression relaxed. There was no self-righteous anger here – no furrowed brow, no curled lip. "'_Filthy little_', what?"

Draco felt a growl of— of pure _ire_ tear from his throat. "There were so many ways for me to conclude that sentence that I couldn't possibly settle on just _one_ of them now, could I?" And indeed, many colourful expletives rang through his mind.

It was still a weak reply, and they both knew it. The witch merely shrugged and hummed tunelessly as if to emphasise the point.

His stiff fingers flexed against the balustrade, and he contented him with imagining it was her neck.

"It seems such a shame the stars are hidden tonight," the witch mumbled a short time later, her voice barely discernible over the whipping roar of the wind.

"Bugger off," he spat as way of reply. Another moment of quiet passed between them, this one longer than the last.

Again, though, she broke the silence. "Did you know that the stars are so far any, we can't see them die for years – sometimes tens, hundreds, and even thousands of years later. We don't realise that we've lost something magnificent until so long after it's—"

The Slytherin felt his magic spark angrily at the witch's rather unsubtle remark. She was lucky, really. Had she made that sort of comment even just a month or so earlier, he might just have made her relive Dumbledore's death herself—

The bitter, callous thought rebounded unpleasantly in his mind, conjuring up vivid images.

_A flash of green light—_

_The life draining out of blue eyes—_

_Sickly white skin against darkness—_

_A limp body flying over the parapets and falling, falling, falling._

And there was more than that, too. There was more, that somehow he'd kept locked away until then, of this girl beside him _shrieking _and _convulsing _and _hacking_.

Flashes of her face torn up with grief and pain - of her body contorting under Aunt Bellatrix's torture curse like some _sick_, twisted puppet.

Of Charity Burbage, brutally murdered before his eyes and swallowed whole by the monstrous form of the Dark Lord's snake.

Of Vince – Vince, so close to being his _friend_ – consumed by his own Fiendfyre.

Of the countless horrors in between.

He gasped like he was in physical pain, and all of his limbs felt weak beneath the force of his resurfaced grief.

The young wizard thought that he must be breaking apart from the inside out – it was the only logical explanation for this level of pain.

Hunched over and gripping the ramparts in front of him like they were the only things keeping him upright, Draco heaved laboured breaths and struggled to get himself under control.

It was no good, though – a person can only bend to carry so much emotional baggage, before they snap.

And Draco Malfoy had reached his breaking point.

This time it was only her presence that staved off his tears. He would _never_ lower himself enough to cry in front of someone like her, but—

—but his throat burned and his eyes stung, and even ducking his head, he felt too exposed to her. Like he'd been flayed raw, until his soul was laid bare and bloody before her.

"J-just _go_," he choked, but the defeated sound must have been lost in the lashing wind, because she didn't so much as twitch. She just kept staring forwards into the churning, cloud-covered sky.

Not once did she make even the slightest move to leave.

...

A/N: I love hearing your thoughts... I just hate nagging for them! Even if your comments are negative, please take the time to let me know.

(Edited 25th Jan 2017)


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter – just a messed up mind.

A/N: ... Thank you so much for your reviews, to everyone who took the time. I was very close to leaving this chapter, as I've got huge deadlines coming up on Friday, and I've just gotten home from what was technically a fourteen hour day of uni work and travel. So, yeah... sorry if it's uninspired and has lots of mistakes..!

Singer for this chapter: Mazzy Star

**By Moonlight**

6

_Before I Sleep_

As Hermione stood there beside the struggling Slytherin, she'd watched the sky. The clouds were tumultuous overhead, the raging winds churning them until they looked like living creatures. The moons gentle blue glow had been almost entirely filtered out behind the brewing storm.

The witch stood placidly alongside him, the wind whipping her hair into a massive flyaway nest, and stinging her face and hands until it felt like they might blister.

Malfoy seemed to have finally cracked – she half expected to glance over and see his chest split open, his heart and lungs and blood spilling down his front. If his grief was anything like hers had been before the numbness, then that's exactly what it would feel like. His stifled sobs and groans put the howls of the wind to shame.

Hermione listened to him gulp at the air and wondered how such a quiet sound could be so loudly amplified in the clamour of a brewing storm. Maybe it was because she was listening for it so intently. She'd heard his last, almost pleading words for her to leave too, and wouldn't really have minded leaving him right there either, only...

Her feet had refused to budge an inch.

Not _one_ inch.

So, she'd stayed. The Gryffindor hadn't pressed to discover her own motives for sticking around, only knowing that she didn't really _mind_ remaining here with him. It almost felt normal to her, being surrounded by those that were mourning, by now.

And so she'd stood with him, never turning to watch him, instead listening to his heaving breaths.

Time passed them in this state, and it could have been hours or minutes before her legs grew weary and her feet ached with the desire to rest.

It was with very little conscious thought that she turned around and lowered herself to the floor, her back coming to rest against the stone parapets and her knees raised up against her chest. The young witch tucked her stiff fingers between her jean-clad thighs to try and warm them.

Even with her new view – the moon to her back and the tower stretched out before her – Malfoy's quiet struggling had remained the centre of her emotionless fascination. She had no idea whether he'd been crying at all during these long, drawn out moment, but she suspected not. The blond's colossal pride probably forbade him from such a plebeian display of emotional weakness – especially in the presence of a mudblood.

Still, she had to respect the sheer breadth of his stubbornness. The Slytherin must have been stood for an incredible amount of time before he almost unwillingly sank down to the cold stone, gusting a sigh like it had been physically knocked out of him.

He'd regained control of his respiration perhaps an hour from sunrise.

By that point, the cold of the ancient stone had long since penetrated the thin layers of her clothing, sinking into her skin and chilling her right down to the bone, but she didn't dare reach for her wand to cast a warming spell on herself.

Somehow the moment seemed very fragile, like even the smallest of movements might disrupt the unnatural peace, shattering it into thousands of tiny pieces all around them both.

Besides, at the far end of the tower, directly opposite them (and almost directly opposite the gradually setting moon), the sun was beginning to rise. It seemed that the winds had started to turn too, chasing the majority of the clouds in a South-Westernly direction, and leaving behind the first spitting drops of rain.

Eventually the sky began to lighten by degrees, too. Those early hours remained blustery and bitter, but the worst had passed during the night and the skies were clear of the usual morning fog thanks to the ferocious winds.

If that wasn't pathetic fallacy, then she wasn't sure what was.

They watched the sunrise together: first velvet black, to lead grey, to stormy silver. The sun shone through a haze of residual clouds, leaving the sky pale and washed out.

Far below the tower birds sang their early morning songs, beginning their serenades a little later than they otherwise might have, due to the unpleasant weather.

The piece was eventually broken.

"Not a word, Granger," the blond had muttered as he'd slowly stood. She finally looked his way, and she considered how very wan he looked in the grey of the dawn. He looked sick and so, so weary...

"Not a word," she echoed.

Why on Earth would she ever think to share this experience with anyone else? It was a bizarre and fairly inauspicious way to pass her free time. Just the thought of Ron's reaction to hearing she'd spent the entire night somewhere secluded with Malfoy ensured she would keep this moment to herself for the longest time possible. She had absolutely no intention to share stories about her night-time excursions with any of her friends.

He shot her a weak glare that did little to covey a threat and instead just seemed to scream weary confusion. And a fair amount of suspicion, too, if the way he was gripping his wand was any indication. "I don't know what you're planning to get from this..." he trailed off, apparently at a loss for how to finish the line. His brow creased and his lips twisted in resentment.

"I don't want anything from you, Malfoy." The words were blunt on her tongue. "Quite frankly, there isn't a single thing that you could offer me right now that I might be tempted to accept from you." She spoke with no malice, though he seemed to take it rudely anyway.

"Good," he spat with quiet venom, hunched shoulders going stiff. "Because I've nothing at all I'd ever be willing to offer you."

This time _he_ was the first one to leave, storming towards the exit with what was probably the last of his energy. At the door, he tuned just long enough to hiss back at her, "And leave me be, you nasty, meddlesome little bitch."

Hermione sank back against the rocks, limbs feeling oddly boneless. She decided that muggle swear words sounded unpleasant and entirely out of place on the aristocratic young wizard's lips.

She wanted nothing more than to sleep.

...

A/N: Please_, _everyone, take the time to leave a review!

(Edited 25th Jan 2017)


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter – just a messed up mind.

A/N: Guys, thank you so much for reviewing the last chapter! It was very hard for me to write in so short an amount of time, and after such an insane day! You guys are the ONLY reason I'm releasing every day. Please continue being awesome!

Band for this chapter: Hey Rosetta!

**By Moonlight**

7

_Bricks_

It was a Friday, and by the time he'd left the Astronomy Tower, certain portions of the castle were beginning to wake up.

He might as well have headed straight down to breakfast. There really wasn't a point in returning to the dorm.

Ever since McGonagall had been generous enough to accept him back into the school despite his actions during the war, a part of Draco had been desperate to prove that her kindness had not been misplaced. He hadn't been even a minute late to any of his classes yet, and he'd taken notes and completed homework probably at the same speed as Granger—

_Granger_—

But that was the problem _she_ was the problem. She'd done something to him up there beneath the brewing storm, and he'd snapped. Just like that, everything had crumbled.

The damned witch had gone and broken him, and now all he could do was stumble down the corridor with a very flimsy _notice-me-not_ spell flickering weakly around him.

By the time he staggered into the Slytherin Common room, a few first and second years were already up and about, lingering in a group not far from the entrance. When they saw the tall, pale form of the ex-Death Eater walk in, they scattered with loud gasps of terror. Malfoy might have taken great pleasure in their distress a few years ago, but now it made his stomach churn unpleasantly.

Their looks of horror made him feel nauseous.

Instead of lingering there he dragged himself to his dormitory, faltering only briefly when he walked in on Blaise Zabini, straightening his tie. Their eyes met – dark brown and steel grey – and Draco was the first to break the stare.

It would have been an understatement to say that he really wasn't up to holding a conversation with yet another person that despised him. Granger had done all the damage he could take, for one day.

Still, he felt the dark skinned boy's eyes on him all the way to his bed.

After casting locking and silencing charms around him, the thick curtains cutting out the majority of the daylight, the young wizard collapsed against his pillows.

Two nights he'd spent in her company against his will – two nights of pain and sleeplessness and self-loathing. It was too much for him to take, after what were essentially months of nightmares and endless, haunting replays of wartime.

Eyes slipping closed, Draco Malfoy cast aside thoughts of _getting up_ and _eating breakfast_ and _going to lessons_.

Draco slept.

...

_He was in a dark space – not a room, no... – and it reeked of an indefinable animal musk. There was something predatory about the stench that made his toes curl and his throat lock around a lump._

_Only the lump was real – was really _there—_–- -_

_He coughed._

_He heaved._

_He gagged._

_And then the thing crawling around in his throat tumbled out over his tongue and into the darkness with a faint _bzz- zzz- zzzzz.

_Realisation dawned on him. _A fly_, he thought. It had been a fly._

_As if in reply, the creature whizzed past his ear, and he raised his hands to swat it away._

_But again it approached, and this time the _zzz-zzzzzz-z-zz _were words. In a hum, the bug sang, "Don't you know, the stars are dead? Don't you know the stars are dead?"_

_He opened his mouth to tell it something – to leave him be, perhaps – but instead all that came was a great, painful hack. It dislodged something from his chest, his diaphragm spasming with retch after heaving retch._

_And they burst from his parted lips in first a wave and then a torrent, and they gathered around his head like a living, breathing cloud. It had been only one fly to begin with, but now there was a swarm._

"_Don't you know the stars are dead?" he heard the first one sing._

_Another brushed past his cheek, scolding, "The other you is better!"_

_A third whispered, "A planet where things live things live things live on anther planet where..."_

_The cacophony grew, new voices weaving in and out of one another like faces in a crowd._

zz-z

"_Can't tempt me!"_

"_... I want your nothing... I want; you're nothing..."_

zzzz-zz-z-zzzzz

"_Not a word moon! Not a word."_

"_Why're you, Malfoy?"_

zz-zzzzzzzzz-zz-z-zzz-ZZZZZ

_Louder and louder. Louder until the buzzing was inside him – inside his head—_

z-zzz-ZZZ-z-ZZZZZZ, _they cried as one, and they fell as one, their wings shattering like fine glass webs, refracting light that he hadn't noticed before. The light was overhead – high, high, high above him. Above _them_._

_Them, blanketing the ground with their tiny bodies._

_Thousands of struggling legs._

_Tens of hundreds of thousands of millions of watching eyes._

_One voice. One voice that rose in the pounding buzz inside his head._

_A scream._

"_I don't know!" It shrieked, and it was static. "I swear, oh pleas_zz-zzz-zzzz_, the SWORD, I don't know plea_ZZz-zz-z_ it was_z-Z _it wasZZ-z zz it just APPEARED and pleas_zz-ZZ-z _I can't, I won't, I swear it's fake! Fake, fake fake! Pleas_zz _fake pleas_zzzz-zZz _fake _PLEASE—_"_

_It stopped with a slap across his cheek, words connecting with skin like the hard, bitter sting of the wind._

"_Malfoy," it said."Did you know that every star is a sun, Malfoy? And every sun there ever is dies? Did you know they burn out like flies, like fireflies, and there are hundreds of thousands of us out there, hundreds of thousands of light years away. They're better, Malfoy, they're better. It puts our insignificance into perspective, knowing we live in mirrors on suns in light years out there, and they're _better.

"_They're you."_

...

When he awoke, there were tear tracks on his cheeks.

...

A/N: Trippy much? Anyone think they understand what happened there? I'd love to know what you thought of it!

(Edited 25th Jan 2017)


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter – just a messed up mind.

A/N: Sorry this chapter's an hour late (by my time zone, at least!) and thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. If it hadn't been for all of you taking the time to comment, I'd have crawled into bed by now and made you wait an extra day. Your feedback is so, so inspiring!

Band for this chapter: Morcheeba

**By Moonlight**

8

_Enjoy the Ride_

The entirety of Friday's classes passed in such a sleepy blur that most of it seemed like it was some kind of obscurely mundane dream. There was laughter and there were jokes and there was gossip and there were birthday plans, and there were teachers and there was book work and words and faces and food and someone prodding her arm—

"Hermione, are you all right?" Ginny said. The brunette peered around as if only just recognising where she was: it was dinner.

She blinked in a groggy way that said she was about to fall asleep in her cottage pie. "Hm? Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," she reassured easily. "Just, y'know, sleepy. It's all that late night reading."

Ron was giving her an odd look. Actually, everyone was.

"Maybe you should go and get some sleep," Ginny suggested carefully. That sounded so amazing to her overworked body that she nodded and smiled dreamily at the group, before slowly standing up with the intention of heading back to Gryffindor Tower.

"Blimey," she thought she heard Seamus mutter as she clambered over the edge of the bench and began heading for the door. "She's more and more like you every day, Luna— ow! Bloody hell, calm down, lads!"

...

The witch slept, and it was blissfully dreamless.

When she awoke, it was to Ron's body sliding into bed beside her, grinning sheepishly at her in his pyjama top and boxer shorts, his chilled toes pressing against the warm back of her legs. "Parvati helped levitate me up the stairs," he explained, as if Hermione had asked him how he'd gotten there. To be honest, she'd expected as much – though maybe not from Patil. Either way, his presence there was hardly a surprise. Perhaps she should feel guilty for taking him for granted…

"Okay," was all she said in return, pushing her covers back and scooting out of the bed just as her boyfriend settled down beside her. Her voice was a little groggy and hoarse, but all in all she was much better than she had been earlier.

"Where're you going?" Ron sounded baffled, and perhaps a little hurt. That was probably a reasonable reaction to Hermione's sudden decision to leave.

The brunette used her frankest voice when she answered him. "I've been asleep for..." – a glance down at her watch informed her that it was just gone midnight – "six hours. I'm awake now, and I really want a shower."

He frowned, looking like he might fancy protesting. The witch beat him to the punch line. "I'm sorry, Ron, but I really don't want to go straight to sleep. I think I'll head down to the kitchens for a snack and maybe do some of my Ancient Runes essay before I wash and come back to bed."

Ron sighed but nodded, having learnt that letting Hermione do her own thing was for the best – especially where studying was involved. It didn't mean that he wasn't going to pout about it, though. "Sure, Hermione," was all he muttered in reply.

It was with quiet haste that she pulled on a pair of thick, festive winter socks, summoning a Weasley jumper from her trunk in lee of her usual fleece jacket. No doubt Ron would choose that exact moment to be observant – what with his impeccable sense of timing – and would question why exactly it was that she need her coat to visit the kitchens. As that was most definitely _not _a desirable possibility, Hermione thought it would be best to just play on the safe side.

The eighteen-year-old girl bent and brushed a brief kiss over the freckles on his forehead and with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, wandered down into the hallway.

Without a second thought, she cast the disillusionment spell over herself and tiptoed down the stairs.

It was busier than usual, being a Friday night, but everyone was so caught up in themselves and their friends that she ducked through the portrait hole with no issues at all.

The rest of her route was thankfully clear – for the third night in a row – although Peeves did go flying past her on the fifth floor, cackling gleefully as he went. Luckily he was so caught up in whatever terrible pranks he was undoubtedly planning to notice Hermione.

After the long trek up the winding staircase, she opened the door and studied the space around her, for a moment certain that she was alone and that he hadn't shown up. _Perhaps he's gone somewhere else_, a part of her questioned. Her feet itched a little at the thought.

But then she spotted him, hunkered down opposite her, and she noticed that his eyes were on her.

He'd sat over there so he'd be facing the door, she realised.

Hermione had no idea what this meant, only that it probably wasn't anything good, but decided that she'd attempt to approach him anyway.

It only took her five steps into the space before his wand arm snapped up, knuckles white with the strength of their grip on the wand.

"_Don't_," he hissed. "Just... _don't_. I am so bloody sick of you turning up here every night all of a sudden, acting like you own the place! But _you don't_, you worthless little commoner."

Malfoy's face was contorted into a snarl of rage. She noted that he was looking a lot more rested than he had at dawn, but he didn't look much better for it. Now he just looked slightly crazy.

"Malfoy—" was all she managed to get out, before his hands were flying to his ears and a choked sound of fury escaped him. His wand clattered, forgotten in his apparent panic, down onto the ground beside his knee.

"Merlin, just stop already! Stop _interfering_! Just go!"

The Gryffindor recognised how unhealthy his behaviour was – how unhealthy _he'd_ become, with nothing to vent at and no one to trust.

She decided, then and there, that something needed to be done.

After all, there was no way – apathetic or not – that she was just leaving him like this. Lord only knew what kind of foolish things he might end up doing, if she left him to his own devices.

Instead of leaving, she backed away and sank down onto her bum, leaning back against the door.

The silence drew on, and Hermione observed just how quiet the wind was in comparison to the previous night. Still, there was a chill to the air that promised to have her fingers and toes numb within half an hour.

He said nothing more to her, though she knew he'd watched her partial retreat with a great amount of mistrust.

Finally, deciding that she was done with the silence, she spoke up again.

"If you don't want me to talk, then why don't _you_?" she finally asked.

He met her eyes incredulously.

...

A/N: Please consider taking the time to leave a review!

(Edited 25th Jan 2017)


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter – just a messed up mind.

A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys. Weekends away from the laptop make a writer sad. My fingers have been itching pretty badly – hope it shows in this new chapter!

Also, thank you so much for your continued support! It's such an indescribable thing to see so many people following and commenting on my work.

Band for this chapter: The Veils

**By Moonlight**

9

_The Wishbone_

Draco met her eyes incredulously.

She wanted him to talk, did she?

_She wanted him to—_

And just like that, it happened.

The words started pouring from his mouth; angry, buzzing things like the swarm of flies from his nightmare.

_bz-zz_

"You... you want me to talk?" Draco husked a laughed, and it was gruff and hollow. It was furious. "You want me to _talk_ to you? To tear you apart the way you're trying to destroy me? Well here's news for you, _Granger_: your words are nothing to me. Your _life_ is nothing to me. The only thing your presence is bringing me right now is _pity_." He spat the word like it was venom.

"If I could, I'd be rid of you. I'd be _rid of you_. I'd have you gone forever, you stubborn, muggle-loving freak! You're a vile, putrid waste of space. You're a waste of _magic_. I'd have you sucked dry of your contaminated magic and cast aside with the dirty scum you call your muggles. I'd have you erased from the wizarding world. We don't need your kind here!"

_zz-zzz-z_

The words were hot on his tongue and the rush of adrenaline surging through his veins urged him on; it stoked the fire, kept his temper rising like an inferno. "We don't need you; we don't _want_ you. You'll never be a true part of this world, because you _aren't ever_ going to be one of us.

"You want to talk about the stars? You want to talk about different versions of us? Well in another world – in a _sane_ world – you don't exist. You're not even a smudge on the face of the Earth. _How the fuck does that make you feel?"_

_zzz-zzzz z zzz_

His hands were claws against his legs, and the stars shone mockingly through the clouds like tens of hundreds of thousands of _millions_ of eyes, watching him. The breezes brushing past the nape of his neck and his ears and his cheeks were wings – tiny, fragile wings.

_zzz-zz-Z-zzzz z z zz_

"Here's something for you to think about: do you remember how it felt to be tortured, Granger? Do you remember the feeling of the Cruciatus twisting you about like a ragdoll? Do you have _nightmares_ about what Bellatrix did to you? The way you _screamed_ while she did it? The _pain?_ Do you remember?" He felt winded, but the fire wouldn't stop now.

It was out of his control.

_ZzzzzZ-zz- zZZ Z Zz_

His eyes were pinned on Granger, but he couldn't see her properly. Everything was blurred.

"_I_ remember it. I remember you _screaming_, you know. Pleading and twisting around and bent out of shape. Bellatrix _enjoyed _it – every second of it. She enjoyed the idea of _breaking_ you, and she wanted to feel you cramp and contort and crumble. She was going to _destroy_ you.

"And if she'd done that, then you'd be _gone_. You be gone, just like I'd always wanted. Just like I'd fantasised for years. The Golden _fucking_ Trio, torn apart all because their pathetic, know-it-all Granger was out of the picture. I wanted you _gone_, because those two foolish wastes of space would have been _useless_ without you. They would've been _useless_."

He gulped around the lump of flies in his throat, and his tongue felt heavy and dry in his mouth.

_zZZZ-ZZZ zZZZ ZZZz- z zzzZZ_

"But you know what? _You know what_, you stupid, ignorant little girl? If there's a world out there where I'm some perfect goddamn saint instead of the weak, pathetic boy you think I am, and you're dead instead of alive, then _everything_ would have been different. Your useless oafs would've cocked everything up and the Dark Lord would've _destroyed_ us.

"In a world where you're dead and I'm perfect, then I'm as good as dead too! You think I was being noble, trying to save Potter's arse back at the Manor? You think I'm _better_ when I'm acting like one of you foolish Gryffindors? Is that what you think?" His throat felt raw, like it had been scrubbed at from the inside out with a brutal _Scourgify_.

_ZZZz zZ-Z—z ZZ Z zzZZ ZZ Z Z ZZ_

"Well here's some news for you, you idiot: I was doing it to _save my own skin_. Would I have done that, if I was 'perfect'? If I was a Gryffindor? Do you really think it'd bloody well matter? It _wouldn't_, because without you then Pothead and the Weasel would have messed everything up and the Dark Lord would have killed me and—"

_ZZZZ- -Z -ZZZzzZZZ_

"—I _wouldn't be here._ _I_ wouldn't be here. If I was 'perfect', then I wouldn't have had the damn sense to keep myself alive!"

The wind, despite being soft, made his cheeks sting with the cold.

"And by my calculations—"

_zZZ-ZZ—ZZ -z—z z—ZZ—_

"—the fact you're the only one with common sense – the fact you have any sense at all – proves that you're not perfect, either... You're just as m-messed up as... as _me_." He gulped and choked on his final words.

And that... that was it. That was all he could say.

There was silence.

The buzzing had stopped; the clouds had moved in front of the stars again.

Everything was as it had been.

Except it _wasn't_.

His fists felt boneless against his thighs, and he brought one hand to his icy cheek, stroking the pads of his fingers against the skin there.

Tears.

There were tears.

_That_ was why his eyes had blurred and his throat had burned. That was why his cheeks had stung with the bitter cold.

Horrified by the realisation of what had just happened, the young wizard reeled back to his senses and scrubbed his shirt sleeves against his face.

What the hell was he _doing_?

He stood as swiftly as his legs would allow, only just remembering to retrieve his wand where he'd dropped it a few minutes – _an entire lifetime_ – ago, and stepped with jolting movements towards the door.

He was over halfway there when he remembered she was sitting there, directly in the way.

Almost unwillingly, his eyes fell on her face and he realised—

_What the—?_

There was nothing there.

Nothing but emptiness behind her eyes.

—_wings shattering like fine glass webs—_

His chest tightened with some ugly, unnameable emotion. "Move, Granger," he muttered hoarsely, only a few feet away from her.

In the light of the moon high, high above them, Granger moved. She uncurled from her sitting position with ease and once standing, stepped aside, putting up no fight to try and keep him there. There was no effort made to stop him or to correct his harsh words. She looked like his words hadn't made her feel anything at all.

She looked beyond struggling, somehow. Like she was an animated corpes.

_Inferi._

He tore his eyes away and left her there, stomach heavy and limbs boneless. It felt almost as if maggots were wriggling around beneath his skin.

...

A/N: Your comments make my day. Please continue leaving them.

(Edited 25th Jan 2017)


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter – just a messed up mind.

A/N: Holy cow! Seventy-two followers? I-I... Thank you! I just... I don't even—

/passes out/

Band for this chapter: Warpaint

**By Moonlight**

10

_Teese_

Left in the empty space with Malfoy's words echoing in her ears, Hermione hummed thoughtfully.

A part of her had hoped that in the wake of the blond wizard's tirade, she would feel something; she felt nothing at all.

Not even the tiniest part of her cared that what he'd said was true – scrambled and confusingly conveyed, perhaps, but still tragically honest. She just felt indifferent.

Hermione studied the sky briefly, thinking of Lupin when she noted the full moon. It was sad that something so natural and so beautiful could be such an incredibly dangerous trigger.

After a moment, her eyes moved on to study the flickers of the stars and the skudding silhouettes of the clouds for long moments, giving the blond wizard a chance to flee before she, herself, left the tower.

The idea of staying here in the silence was rather unappealing, and the itch to wander was gone.

_Right, then. Back to the common room it is._

The beginnings of hunger pangs were wriggling around in the bottom of her stomach, and she remembered that she'd told Ron she planned on a trip to the kitchens. However, that felt like a particularly unattractive prospect right then. It probably had something to do with the length of the walk down there.

As soon as she was safely ensconced in the warm comfort of the Gryffindor common room, Hermione decided that she needed a shower after all.

Her skin was crawling.

...

The shower should have made her feel better, but it didn't. Her skin felt clammy and dirty no matter how hard she'd scrubbed. Her scalp itched. Her nails were snagging. Her scarred forearm was stinging.

Hermione ached as she towelled herself dry, slipped into an old t-shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms she'd '_accio'_ed from the dormitory, and moved over to the sinks.

Generally the witch ignored the mirror over the wash basin as she brushed her teeth and prepared for bed.

For some reason, though, she looked up; a pair of hazel brown eyes greeted her.

It was like looking at a stranger.

Her hunger was replaced with a faint sense of nausea; Hermione spat out her mouthful of toothpaste and exited the bathroom as quickly as possible.

Once she'd clambered into her bed, she lay down as far from Ron as possible, her face to the curtains.

_Don't touch me_, she thought wearily as Ron shifted, disturbed briefly in his sleep by the mattress dipping with the addition of her weight. He didn't wake though, and settled down with his face pressed into one of her pillows, his snores muffled by the fabric.

_Please, don't touch me._

She felt dirty.

Dirty.

...

The next day passed by with no further incident, and for once she allowed herself to truly be lost in her friends' jovial attitudes and the excitement of her nineteenth birthday. The previous night had made her feel unsteady somehow, and the thought of staying close to her friends was surprisingly appealing.

She allowed Ron to hug and kiss her and the overly affectionate actions didn't exasperate her to any great extreme.

She put on a smile and laughed at the boy's jokes, unwrapped books and fancy, girl hair ornaments she'd never use and a pretty golden scarf her mother would have loved. The only present that made anything stir in her chest was framed picture of herself and her boys from the days following Voldemort's defeat that Harry gave her.

She remembered to fuss, making sure that everyone was finishing their homework in spite of her birthday – as she had done on every previous year.

Meals went by quickly enough too, and she felt no great compulsion to peer over at the Slytherin table.

The evening came and went and she and Ron retired to the dormitory. They kissed and touched and she held him as he fell asleep, his mood mercifully mild. The crooked, gentle grin and the sweet words he'd whispered to her as they'd laid together in the bed would have made her melt, in the past.

Still, there was no urge to get to her feet and wander, so she stayed there, cradling Ron's head to her chest.

It took her hours, but eventually she slept.

Her dreams were of full moons and pale hands and the clatter of a dropped wand against stone.

...

Sunday was just as exceptionally _un_exceptional as Saturday had been.

It was just after dinner. Usually Sunday evenings promised to be busy, but her homework was already done, and she'd retreated to the library.

In a show of total disinterest, Hermione had selected the first book she'd seen. It was a terribly tacky Astrology text, outlining silly theories and reading more like a horoscope from a teen magazine than an actual published book.

She had just reached the fifth chapter – '_Mars' influences on Gemini'_ – when Luna joined her. The blonde sunk down into one of the spare chairs beside her.

"I didn't know you enjoyed Astrology, Hermione," the younger witch said as way of greeting, voice dreamy as always.

"I don't," Hermione agreed flatly. It didn't matter whether she liked what she was reading or not; she never appreciated being interrupted. Still, the Ravenclaw was a friend, and as such she dog-eared the page and turned her attention to her. "Was there something you needed, Luna?"

"Oh, no. A good cheese and pickle sandwich, perhaps, but I really doubt you'd have one with you. I suspect I'll go and fetch myself one in a little while; I was too busy to eat much at dinner. I was too caught up on writing an article on 'The Effect of Augurey Droppings in Skin Care', for the Quibbler," the blonde said.

Hermione was thankful for her total apathy, because in the past she would have lost her patience with Luna's directionless rambling very quickly. Friend she might be, but the girl was just about as silly as they came, sometimes. "Hm, that's nice," she hummed distractedly.

There was a moment of silence, and then: "Did you know that Augureys not only create sadness with their songs, but it's widely believed they can sense it, too?"

Hermione's gaze snapped up from where it had dropped to the faded cover of her book. Luna's usually soft blue eyes seemed sharper than usual. The brunette's mind was a dizzying blankness in the face of Luna's silent acknowledgement.

This was the Ravenclaw's way of saying that she saw through Hermione's act; the Gryffindor had no idea how she knew that, but she did.

"Oh," was all she managed to choke out.

Luna nodded, face melancholy. "It's very tragic, really. As a bird related to the phoenix, you'd think its voice would be beautiful. They must be very gloomy creatures themselves, to create such a poignant song. Don't you think?"

"Luna—" Hermione began, feeling the need to express that she didn't want her emotions (or lack thereof) broadcasted to her other friends.

"Don't worry, I won't say anything," the other witch interrupted effortlessly as she stood from her seat. Conversation apparently over, Luna fiddled distractedly with her corkscrew necklace before delivering her parting line.

"If you're interested in Astrology, perhaps consider reading up on the Moonfrog. They're fascinating creatures, you know..."

With that, Hermione was left on her own.

...

Despite the itch to move having gradually returned over the course of the day, Hermione again refused to leave the relative peace of the common room. There was something comforting in the evening routine that made her want to linger.

However she attempted to combat it though, she was beginning to grow restless again; this was never more evident than when she was held in Ron's stiflingly warm embrace, his snores reverberating through her from where his cheeks rested on her shoulder. She wanted to slip away from him and walk through the passageways of the castle to calm the insatiable itch.

Still, she remained where she was, and eventually succumbed to sleep.

...

Bright_, she thought as she shielded her eyes from the white-gold light._

_There was a croaking _ribbit_ from somewhere very nearby and she squinted through the strong moonlight to try and make out whatever it was. What on Earth could be croaking up here? How would a frog even get onto the Astronomy Tower?_

_Her searching eyes slowly adjusted to the blinding light of the moon._

_Only, it wasn't the moon at all._

_It was platinum hair._

_It was pallid skin._

_It was the roll of tears over sharp, cutting cheekbones._

_It was a very familiar young man, and he was in the sky above her, curled into a ball and peering balefully – mournfully – down at her._

"_Beautiful," she mouthed, enraptured._

_All that escaped her, though, was, _"Rr-rrribbit."

...

A/N: Your comments make my day, and with so many of you following and reading (I know you are – my stats are going wild!), I'd love to hear your opinions!

(Edited 25th Jan 2017)


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry potter – just a messed up mind.

**A/N:** I've had a few of you worry about the speed of this story being a little on the slow side – lemme just say, don't y'all worry. It'll be a long story, but at the speed I'll hopefully be updating, you won't have to wait too long for things to get more interesting! Trust me on this – I'm cutting out as much of the boring stuff as possible!

It helps that this chapter is double the usual length, of course! Heheh ;)

Band for this chapter: Snowmine

**By Moonlight**

11

_Nervous_

Over the course of Saturday, he'd avoided the other students, refusing to go to the Great Hall even for his meals. He ventured into the kitchens for piping hot cocoa and cake, and his hands had shook so terribly that he'd spilt the scalding liquid over his fingers. He'd stared dumbly at the angry pink skin as the house elves had fretted and flapped uselessly around him.

That was the first night he'd spent on his own up on the Astronomy Tower since Granger had graced him with her presence.

He'd told himself that he was glad. _Glad_ that she'd left him be; _glad_ that he had his time to himself and his guilt; _glad_ that it felt as though every minute of solitude was increasing the load weighing down on his shoulders.

Sunday, he completed his homework after returning to his room at sunrise, fitful with frustration and aching from hours in the cold with little movement. He slept only for a short while, and turned up briefly at dinner when his rumbling stomach urged him to move. The moment that _she_ entered the hall, smiling and laughing like nothing was the matter, his frustration spiked and he stormed out, suddenly furious.

The second night, he'd paced angrily, and he'd blamed her. He'd blamed her for everything that was wrong in his life.

Monday was very much unwelcomed, but it came about despite his wishing otherwise. He was bone tired from his constant pacing, and he attended Breakfast only to pick at a blueberry muffin, eyes snapping back to the frazzled mop of brown hair time and again.

Potions was awful, for the entirety of the Eighth Year was pressed into the same room, and right there in front of him sat Granger. She didn't spare him a single glance and went about tutting and pestering Pothead and the Weasel instead. Every now and then, when her thick-skulled friends weren't watching, she seemed to drift off, falling silent and still for long breaths. And then the restless _tap-tap-tapping_ of her foot against the ground would start up, and the action made him want to bang his head against his desk.

The third night, he'd huddled himself down against the rain and had stared blindly at the door, his words of only a few nights ago echoing through his head like someone was using _Sonorous_ to bellow them back at him.

If he'd honestly thought that Monday was bad, then Tuesday was utterly torturous. There was no denial, no anger and no self-pity; there was only a quiet, churning guilt, and a loneliness that seemed to creep into his bones.

The thought of returning to the Astronomy Tower _alone_ again made his stomach drop out from beneath him. The buzzing of the flies had died, but their dead eyes watched him from every shadow. Still, he knew there was no question about whether or not he'd go – it was impossible for him _not_ to.

_It is the least I can d, now_, he repeated to himself over and over again. _It is the least I can do._

The blond slept fitfully on the evening of the fourth night, and in between short, uncoordinated flickers of dreams were waking thoughts of hollow eyes and dark freckles on moon-bleached cheeks.

Draco gave up on sleep some time after midnight and clambered the stairs to the Tower, already knowing that she wouldn't be there.

_Maybe she thinks I'm hopeless,_ a voice whispered from the back of his mind. It sounded eerily childlike – the same voice he'd used years ago, when all he'd wanted was his father's approval. _Maybe she thinks I'm irredeemable; maybe I'm _not_ worth saving. Maybe I can't be_.

He spent his time huddled away from the misty rain again, and was soaked through by morning – for he didn't leave until the sun began to rise – with only his thoughts for company.

And so the pattern continued, night after night, day after day, his glances becoming less subtle and more _desperate_, until the Weasel was shooting him confused, suspicious looks around huge mouthfuls of Yorkshire puddings, and Potter was doing a very good impression of a startled barn owl. But it didn't matter, because he didn't _want_ their attention – he wanted _hers_.

He wanted hers, so that he could see if her eyes were empty; so that he could stop blaming himself for putting that _void_ there. So that he could stop blaming himself for _breaking_ Granger.

By the time that Friday evening came around, Granger's two meat-headed buffoons looked like they were ready to set up an armed guard around the apparently oblivious muggleborn, and the Weaslette was so red in the face that he might have feared he'd be on the bad side of her Batbogey hex, if only he could have brought himself to care.

That night, the rain let up.

Up on the – _empty, again _– Astronomy Tower, Draco approached the edge of the parapets and looked out over the high edges, into the grounds. It was still early enough that a few lights from the lower levels of the castle shone out across the grass, catching on the dewy blades and making them glitter like reflections of the stars that were still hidden behind the clouds far, far above.

Steel grey eyes stared down from the ramparts blindly, shoulders heavy and head bowing under the weight of it all. All said and done, he felt guilt – _guilt_, of all things! – bubbling up like stomach acid. The thought was a distressing one, but it wasn't all too new. He was used to feeling guilt over the dead and the incarcerated – his almost-friends and his family... but over a few thoughtless words to _know-it-all_ _Granger_?

The truth of the matter was that, no matter how dirty her blood or how vulgar and tasteless her conversational skills, the nasty little show off had _distracted_ him. She had chipped away at his emotions and his resolve and his self-loathing and she had made him _question _himself. She was a horrid, common little bint, yes, and she was _insufferable_, but she had... she had made him think.

And _that_, he'd assured himself, was the reason that he'd stopped stiff, joints suddenly locked and muscles tensed, when he'd seen a figure stroll out into the light below the tower, her baggy grey mess of a jumper a dark mark against the shimmering grass. Below a knee-length school skirt, her bloody _legs were bare_ right down to her feet, save for a pair of hideous yellow socks. Her hair stood out around her head in a furious frizz that made her easily identifiable, even from this distance.

Granger moved gingerly through the ankle-high grass, lifting her feet high above the grass as though the action might keep her socks dry. She looked bloody _ridiculous_, flailing her legs about like that; if only she put on some shoes, then she wouldn't have to—

Then, the light illuminating the halo of grass she was stood flickered out—

—_thousands of struggling legs—_

—and the stars captured in the dew died in a heartbeat—

— _tens of hundreds of thousands of millions of watching eyes, blanketing the ground with their tiny bodies—_

—and Draco didn't wait to hear the scream inside his head.

There was no thought; he _ran_.

He ran, taking the stairs _two-three-four_ at a time, hands tight on the banisters and cloak flying out behind him.

—_struggling legs—_

His breath came in short, fast pants and hurtled down corridors, blind and unable to slow himself down. His heart beat was a frenzied staccato in his chest, pounding loud enough in his ears to deafen him. He flew by classroom after classroom, and around bend after bend.

—_watching eyes, blanketing—_

The Slytherin almost tripped on his feet and fell down the main staircase to the Entrance Hall, his shoes making an awful, skidding racket on the wooden floorboards.

He gasped at the air, burning his throat and making his mouth dry, but it didn't matter because he was _throwing _himself out of the huge doors, even as Filch's harsh voice shrieked, "Students! Students, out of bed!" from the top of the staircase behind him.

His running became nothing but _grass— can't let it— pounding feet— breathe— must find— need_ _to— have to—_ through the darkness, avoiding the scattered beams of light from high up windows.

And then, finally, what felt like years later, he spotted her, wading through the grass in her _stupid bloody socks_, out towards the edge of the forest.

Draco made a loud, pained sound that filled the empty air between them and had her spinning, eyes wide in the darkness. What was she _doing_, the idiotic witch?

He barely managed to slow himself down enough not to go hurtling straight into her. Steadied himself, he snatched at her covered wrist to stop her from turning away, or running off, or hexing him or—

"What_—_" he rasped, wheezing from exertion. "_What_ are... you _doing_, you fool?"

There was silence for a beat as the flicker of _something_ faded from her eyes and her expression settled into blank indifference. Granger peered at his crushing hold on her wrist, mouth tugging down at the very corners. "Let go of me, Malfoy," she said effortlessly, her voice steady and clear.

The blond glanced down and then reeled back as though burnt, when he spotted his long, pale fingers curled tight over grey wool. _When had he—?_

Clearing his throat, he rallied himself. "I _said_, what are you _doing _out here, you utter idiot?" It was _dark_ and she was walking about in her _socks_, and Merlin, _she hadn't bothered even putting on her shoes_!

Rubbing her wrist, she said flatly, "I'm walking." And then, a moment later she repeated, "Why're _you_ out here?"

When the words caught up with him, Draco's face went slack with surprise. Why... Why _was_ he here? His mouth moved soundlessly around words that wouldn't form, before snapping shut. The adrenaline slowly began to leak from his body, replaced instead with tension and strain. The uncomfortable silence stretched out between them, and Draco's skin began to crawl under her bland, assessing gaze.

He was about to try again, lips parting to form harsh, defensive words, when a _Lumos Maximus_ burst to life from around the corner.

Draco froze like a Golden Snidget on a Quidditch pitch as the light moved closer, and Flitwick's high voice rang out over the grounds. He was an _idiot_. He'd even _heard _Filch shrieking, and yet he'd done nothing! Nothing useful, at least. And now they'd both be caught and Draco _couldn't afford that_! Not when he'd only gotten back into Hogwarts by the skin of his teeth! He'd lose _everything_, and for _what_?

He didn't hear Granger swear, or try to catch his attention in fast, hushed tones. It was only when the light was only a dozen feet from where they were standing that Granger gave up on talking sense to his deaf ears and instead tugged, _hard_, on the lapels of his cloak to get him to move, and he snapped out of his panic.

The unlikely pair bolted, straight into the tree line of the Forbidden Forest.

...

**A/N:** Please_, _guys, do a desperate writer a favour and review? It makes such an astounding difference to the direction of my day!

(Edited 25th Jan 2017)


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter – just a messed up mind. Oh, and many, many spelling errors. Sorry, my dears!

**A/N:** Thank you to _everyone_ that reviewed last chapter! Yreviews made me smile like a fool! Unfortunately, I won't be able to reply to your reviews by pm, simply because I don't have enough time at the moment. However, it makes my day to see such wonderful feedback from everyone!

Singer for this chapter: Agnes Obel

**By Moonlight**

12

_Avenue_

Her back was pressed up against a tree trunk, and the rough grooves of the bark dug into her skin through the thick wool of her jumper.

At her front was a tall, thin, very _male_ body, surprisingly warm despite the fabric separating them. Her fingers were locked in the front of his cloak, holding him there – trapping him, despite the fact that _she _was the one that was cornered.

She could feel his hot breath spilling over her forehead, cheeks and the bridge of her nose. The quiet pants stirred a few errant strands of her hair until they tickled her eyelashes and her chin.

She didn't bother craning her head back to look at him; his face would be shrouded in shadows.

"Granger—"

"_Shh_!" The sound was a quick, quiet reprimand on her lips.

Right at that moment a light passed over the area that they were hiding in, and she pulled him closer still, until their knees knocked and he had to reach up to steady himself, his pale, long fingered hands braced against the tree on either side of her head, bracketing her in.

He made a move to jerk away, probably affronted by something ridiculous, like the fact that a mudblood was touching him, but she tightened her grip on his lapels in an unspoken warning.

The brunette's eyes stared at her fistfuls of his collar blindly as she listened to the muffled voices of Flitwick and Filch walking the edge of the forest behind her.

"Now, Argus, are you _positive_ that you weren't just hearing things? Our minds are bound to get the better of us every once in a while, old chap. It's only natural, after—" came Flitwick's squeaky voice, right before Filch's gruff voice butted in rather impolitely.

"I'm not imagining anything, you twittering old coot! There're students out of bed, and I'm going to get them! I'll have the thumbscrews out my morning, mark my words!"

There was an affronted, "_Harrumph_!" from the tiny professor, and then the increasingly distracted (and irate) voices began to move away.

Malfoy shifted his weight, and the movement pressed his chest against her hands a little more firmly for a brief pause.

When the professor and the caretaker had moved far enough away to satisfy Hermione's worries, she released her grip on the pale, towering young man, and gave him a gentle nudge to demonstrate that she'd let him go.

The wizard lurched away, and in the dim light separating them, she could make out the disgusted curl to his lips. Hermione shrugged the look off easily and straightened herself up to pat the creases from the front of her jumper.

The was a beat of silence and for Hermione's part, she thought it was a pleasant enough pause; Malfoy was pulling a face like he was sucking on a ripe bubotuber pod.

"So," the witch said, wriggling cold, damp toes in the confines of soggy socks and studying the covered digits as she broke the silence hanging between them. "You didn't answer my question: why are you here?"

He made an angry sound in his throat. "Because— because what _utter dunce_ goes wandering about in the Forbidden Forest alone? And _at night_, no less?"

Hermione quirked a sardonic eyebrow at that, not at all impressed. "I wasn't in the Forbidden Forest; you wouldn't have been able to spot me from the Tower, if I was." She glanced up at him through her lashes as she said the last part, and watched him sputter indignantly. Before he managed to form a coherent denial of any kind, she continued: "I _was_ heading towards the Forest though."

Malfoy threw his hands up into the air, grasping at the opportunity to defend himself in a heartbeat. "_Precisely_!" he hissed at her, silver eyes catching a flash of light from the castle at her back. "You were going to go out there, and I could hardly let you go and _die_! I'm not about to get convicted as a murderer just because one of the Golden trio was foolish enough to wander off into the bloody _Forbidden Forest_ in the middle of the night – in her _socks_, no less!" He waved at her still wriggling toes. "It would be utterly ridiculous – I won't let the good name of the Malfoys be dragged through the dirt for some filthy little muggle lover!"

She made no comment on the Malfoy name being dragged through the dirt, ridiculous as his statement was – from the way that the blonde's shoulders tensed in the dim light, he knew it was to. His pride was probably giving him a huge kick up the backside just then, she imagined.

Instead, she said, "And why exactly would _you_, of all people, be blamed for my disappearance and possible death?"

There was such a look of unhappiness on his face, even while obscured by shadows, that her breath caught a little in her chest. "Last time I checked, Granger, I was a _Death Eater_." The words were spat out as if they cost him physical pain.

The brunette blinked. Could he really be that dumb? "Emphasis on the '_was_'."

"Yet I still have the mark, and so the blame will naturally fall on _me_," her defence of him seemed to genuinely upset Malfoy further, if his tight jaw and squinting eyes were anything to go by. Perhaps he was just disagreeing on principle.

"The world isn't black and white, Malfoy; many people don't see your situation that way. If they did, and they thought you were a true threat to their children, then you wouldn't be here."

This apparently stumped him. Hermione dug her socked toes into the loose earth, though her feet were numb with cold. She hated the numbness. She hated it.

"But... I _killed _him – took part in his murder. I helped _kill_ a man! I _am_ a murderer! _Him_, and Burbage, a-and—" his words choked off, and it sounded like he was having trouble breathing again.

For what was undoubtedly the thousandth time since she'd come to be a part of the Wizarding world, the muggleborn witch wondered at the lack of mental health services, like psychiatrists, psychotherapists and counsellors. Frankly, it was a miracle that the entirety of Wizarding Britain wasn't collapsing beneath the combined weight of everybody's post traumatic stress.

She drove her toes harder into the mulch, but they only tingled vaguely.

"And you're only human, Malfoy. We're all human. What you did was wrong, but that doesn't make you evil; it certainly doesn't mean that everyone sees you that way." Though perhaps Harry, Ron and Ginny would start accusing him again, if he continued glaring at her the way he had the entire week. Despite what people said about Slytherins, subtlety certainly wasn't _this_ one's forté.

"Besides," she continued, when it became apparent that Malfoy wasn't about to look up from the glower he was throwing off into the thick shadows to his right. "My feet are cold. I might as well go inside to cast drying and warming charms on them. It'd be pointless, staying out here now."

The numbed tingle was dying back down into nothingness, no matter how she tested her footing in loam.

He made no move to follow her through the darkness as she turned away.

"Oh, and Malfoy?" She paused to say over her shoulder, and though her voice was low, it carried over the space between them. "Don't get into trouble like you almost did just then. I'll personally _Reducto_ you, if you put Harry's hard work and appeals to McGonagall and to the Wizengamot to waste."

"_Granger_," he croaked behind her, and for a long while she watched him to see if he would say anything more.

The muted noises of the forest filled the space around them; mouth occasionally opening and closing, Malfoy remained silent.

Moonfrogs ribbiting inside her head each time his lips parted, she thought that perhaps she was slowly turning into Luna. She made less and less sense _even to herself_ as time went on, and she couldn't bring herself to care.

With that rather dreary thought, Hermione turned and left. She wasn't going to wait out here forever.

Malfoy made no further attempt to stop her.

...

**A/N:** Review? For me? Please?

(Edited 25th Jan 2017)


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Harry Potter – just a messed up mind.

**A/N:** You guys, your comments on the last chapter made me so smiley that I got lots of odd looks at work today. You're the best!

Band for this chapter: Suede

**By Moonlight**

13

_Down_

It had taken Draco a long time to trail back into the castle after Granger had left him there. He'd gone straight back to the Slytherin Common Room, and from there, to his dormitory.

Zabini was sat at one of the many unclaimed desks in the room, his focus straying from his work just long enough to glance up at Draco, before flicking back down again. A palpable tension filled the room yet Zabini carried on writing, shoulders straight and face smooth.

Any other night, Draco might have spun on his heel and left just to avoid his aloof dorm mate; this time he gritted his teeth, jaw clenching hard, and moved stiffly towards his bed. When Zabini did nothing to endanger his privacy, he slowly allowed himself to relax, gathering his belongings and retreating to the bathroom to wash and change.

By the time he'd settled beneath his blankets, curtains spelled tightly shut around him, he felt heavy and boneless.

That night he slept well and was only woken once, an hour before dawn, the buzzing of flies in his ears and the fangs of a snake at his throat.

Zabini was, miraculously, still in the Dormitory when he finally pulled back his bed curtains, fiddling with his tie.

It might have been Draco's imagination, but for a moment – _just a moment _– he'd thought he'd seen the very corners of the other Slytherin's mouth tilt upwards in— in— in what, a sneer? A smirk? A grin? A smile? A _greeting_?

Unnerved by the break in their usual traditions of _avoid, avoid, avoid_, the blonde had jolted into action, movements jerky and faltering as he hurried away.

...

He found the hours passed by agonisingly slowly, and the urge to climb the steps to the Astronomy Tower had him watching the clocks rather obsessively.

_How long until I can go back to silence and guilt and mourning in peace? How long until I'm watching the door and regretting my actions? How long?_

When he finally allowed himself to climb the stairs to the Astronomy Tower that night, he was resigned to hours upon hours of cold winds, darkness and loneliness.

And yet, somehow he wasn't surprised to open the door and see her peering out over the edge on the balustrade, intently studying the outline of the waning moon.

Neither said anything as he clicked the door shut behind him and moved to the opposite end of the open space, sinking down onto the floor with his back against a section of the parapets, legs stretched out in front of him.

The silence remained between them as they watched the moon rise, with the bitter chill of the ancient stone eating into the backs of his legs through his trousers.

Thick, silhouetted clouds moved to swallow up the stars.

Eventually, when the sky was nothing more than a thick, churning blackness above them, Granger turned and sat herself down in a position mirroring his, minus her ludicrously socked feet, which wriggled distractingly every now and then.

Draco couldn't make out her expression in the darkness, and for that he supposed he was grateful.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed up there. Whether it was minutes or hours, they watched each other from across the open space, only moving to stretch or to cast a nonverbal warming spell. There were no kind sentiments and there were no comforting words, but there wasn't anger or aggression, either.

They simply _were_, and perhaps it was odd, but Draco didn't feel awkward about it at all.

It was as though a surreal sort of spell had been cast over them.

Finally, Granger released a huge, gusting sigh and clambered to her ridiculous looking feet, brushing imaginary dirt from the back of her hideously _muggle_ jeans as she turned to leave.

The blonde watched her go, and neither spoke a word. The spell was broken the second that the _click_ of the door handle echoed, deafeningly loud in the space.

A few minutes later, he clambered to his feet and followed after.

And so, a new tradition was born.

...

Four days later, Draco was simply walking down the corridor towards the seventh and eighth years joint Ancient Runes class (for there were less than ten students in total from each of the year groups taking the subject), when he caught a movement in the corner of his eye.

_What—_

Walking alongside him, plain as day, was Granger.

He startled and briefly considered shouting at her for her utter idiocy (being seen with Granger in public was, perhaps, even _worse_ than watching her gallivanting off into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night), but subsided when he caught the lax, blank expression on her face.

In the end he found himself incapable of saying anything, and instead grimaced and moved as far away from her as the corridor would allow. He even went so far as to speed up his steps. Rather dishearteningly, she kept pace with him, her attitude remaining unflappable throughout.

By the time they'd reached the classroom, Draco was unreasonably tense and jittery. It perhaps didn't help matters too much that every other person they walked by did double takes, and the larger groups – of girls, especially – whispered behind cupped hands, voices buz_—zzZz_—zing when he passed them by too closely.

The blonde pushed ahead of the ever-calm Granger as they entered the fairly empty classroom, to take his usual seat at the very back of the room.

Granger followed him.

_Granger._

_Followed._

_Him._

He span around so fast to glare at her that it was a miracle he didn't slide straight out of his seat. The _infuriating,_ frizzy haired witch settled herself down beside him as if nothing was wrong, digging into her bag and retrieving parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink.

As she set about scribbling the date into the top right hand corner of the parchment, Draco couldn't seem to stop gaping at her.

"Close your mouth," she mumbled just loud enough for him to hear, as Professor Babbling entered the room and charmed a piece of chalk to begin scratching the rune '_Ehwaz_' up onto the blackboard.

His mouth shut with an audible _click_, like the Tower door swinging shut behind him. "_Excuse_ me?!" He demanded quietly, enraged and humiliated by the thought that she'd caught him gawping at her uselessly.

"I said, close your mouth, before you catch a fly."

Stunned silence followed; a sick feeling began to rise in his stomach like bile.

He turned away, suddenly feeling rather ill.

The Slytherin was set so far off balance, that he almost didn't catch the long, lingering looks shot in their direction by Loony Lovegood, the Weaslette and Zabini, among their other classmates.

...

To be perfectly frank, Draco _shouldn't have been surprised_, when the same thing happened the next day in Arithmancy.

...

**A/N: **Please take the time to leave a review. It gives me the incentive to keep these chapters coming quickly!

(Edited 25th Jan 2017)


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter – just a messed up mind.

**A/N:** 100 followers? Really? Wow, I'm speechless! Thank you, everyone!

Singer for this chapter: Emiliana Torrini

**By Moonlight**

14

_Birds_

Hermione tucked some flyway strands of hair back behind her ears, and silently thanked Merlin for warming charms. Even _if_ they weren't a great help against the elements, they eased the sting of the cold a little.

Rather typically, considering the season and the location, the weather was foul. Tiny, spitting drops of icy rain were carried by the buffeting wind, spraying across her damp jumper and jeans. Despite her strategical positioning – partially hidden behind one of the ramparts – the breeze was wily and wicked enough to change course and slowly but surely drench her.

Across the dark space, Malfoy's head was dipped, his cloak collar standing tall enough to hide the majority of his face from her. His pale hair whipped about in the strong breeze, making the silent, slouched young wizard almost incomparable to his usual snooty persona.

Shivers ran down the length of her spine in waves, seeping into stiff limbs.

Night upon night of stillness was beginning to take its toll on her patience.

Hermione needed movement – she needed sensation and warmth and stimulus.

The witch was getting very little of that up here, and the endless stretches of silence that separated them from one another up here – and in their joint classes – made her dwell on thoughts that she would have rather avoided. And_ thinking_ those thoughts would bring her dangerously close to _feeling_.

Hermione didn't care that her friends were beginning to give her worried looks. It didn't matter that Ron held her tighter in his arms, as if she was going to crumble away like dust. She couldn't bring herself to worry over the unhappy whispers she still heard in the corridors, or the sombre conversations that started in the common room during the evenings, when defences started to drop.

What _did_ bother her, though, was the silence.

This infernal, clamouring stillness, which crept into her chest and pumped her veins full of thick, sluggish mud.

The feeling was... unsettling.

It made her feel as though she hadn't washed in weeks.

She had endured the endless, dragging hours of bitter silence for over a fortnight now and still there seemed no further change in the pale, haunted young wizard that she followed like a shadow. Hermione hadn't bothered wondering _why_ exactly she seemed to have taken on the role of _ally _and _protector_ of Draco Sodding Malfoy, but then again, it didn't really seem all that important to her. She'd always been Champion of the Underdogs, so the role she'd assumed was only natural.

The _problem _was that her current method of trying to help him was bringing her closer and closer to confronting her own issues.

A particularly forceful gust drove a fervent tremble right down to her fingertips, jolting her from her endless reverie.

The witch clambered stiffly to her feet as she had every night before, but instead of leaving, she crossed the space between them in slow steps.

Hermione might have gotten some sense of amusement from the surprise and suspicion in his widening of his eyes and the tilt of his brow, once upon a time.

Instead, she moved to sit beside him – only a few feet away – and made a point to study the sky from her new point of view.

She watched from her peripheral vision as his tense, hunched shoulders eased and his attention shifted back to the inky sky overhead.

As soon as he seemed to have adjusted to her presence beside him, (however unwillingly), Hermione moved again.

Finally, she headed for the stairs.

The witch could feel sharp grey eyes follow her all the way to the door, no doubt baffled by her behaviour.

She'd tried something new, and it was an interesting possibility, but... for now, she wanted movement. She wanted noise. She wanted speech and distractions and proper human company.

Her feet were _itchitchitching_; at least, she supposed, they weren't numb.

...

It was not unusual to find Harry and Ginny curled around each other in the Common Room.

It was not unusual to find Harry awake where Ginny was not.

It was, however, highly unusual to see him frowning at her like she'd just told him she was part veela.

"Where d'you keep going?" He asked in a hoarse whisper over the top of his girlfriend's head.

Hermione shrugged, and did her best to roll her eyes – she'd done that once, right? Or was it huffing? Tutting? Shaking her head? Biting her lip? She found that she couldn't remember.

In the end, all she said was, "Out."

This, apparently, was not a desirable reply; Harry frowned like a disappointed mother and—

—_brown eyes, angry-sad-disgusted-disgraced-mistrusting-broken-loathing-mourning-hating-crying-withering, brown eyes across the room. Brown eyes saying more than words—_

—and Hermione stifled the hitch in her breath as all of the air was squeezed out of her lungs.

The young witch focussed on steadying herself, momentarily set off balance.

She fiddled with the hem of her jumper, belatedly noticing that her hands were still shaking from the chill she'd caught outside...

The sound of Harry's voice slowly drifted back into focus, and it took even longer for her to really process the words that he was saying. "... Thinks you're kind of acting a little... different, recently. Not that different isn't good or anything, but... Well, you know we're here if ever you want to talk, right? ... Er, Hermione?"

The muggleborn witch gulped convulsively around a very dry throat, and tried her best to summon a smile. The attempt was entirely pathetic, if the way he continued to frown was anything to go by. "I'm fine, Harry," she reassured. When she continued, her words were a surprise to even herself. "I was in the library, but I got hungry. I just... came back to see if you were up. And wanted to go. To the kitchens, that is." A pause, and then she added rather lamely, "With me."

A long and painful moment passed beneath Harry's intense scrutiny.

What felt like decades later, the wizard sighed and began to edge out of Ginny's sleeping embrace. He _Accio_ed a blanket from one of the other armchairs and carefully settled it around the pretty, redheaded witch.

The bespectacled young man brushed a soft kiss over his girlfriend's forehead before he stepped back, and Hermione watched the action distractedly.

Finally, he straightened.

As they moved together towards the portrait hole, he murmured teasingly to her, "Now, if this is some sort of new scheme for Spew..."

She gave his shoulder a gentle smack to show just how unimpressed she was with his supposed wit. His accompanying laughter was enough to settle her back down again.

Truth be told, Hermione wasn't sure _why_ she'd suddenly decided that they ought to go to Kitchens together, but as Harry dropped a comforting arm around her shoulders and worried over her catching a cold, she decided that it really didn't matter.

...

The two friends sat together in a small alcove just off of the dungeons, protected on three sides from the harsh winds, sheltered from the worst of the rain and out of sight from passing teachers. The air was still on the fresh side, but here at least the cold didn't threaten to consume her.

Warmth radiated from their charmed clothing, from the familiar body beside her and from the huge mug of hot chocolate in her hands. She found that Harry's presence, despite all of his concerned glances and questions, warmed her more than anything else.

At one point, he ventured to mutter between muted slurps, "You know, Ginny and Luna... they've sort of mentioned how you're, erm... how you're sitting down next to _Malfoy_ an awful lot in some of your lessons."

"Yes?" She pressed, mild and sedate.

"Well... I guess I was wondering why? I mean, why bother with the arrogant prat?"

Hermione stared out into the gradually lightening courtyard as she considered his words, thinking to herself that this tiny, tucked away little place offered the kind of peacefulness that she had craved for weeks now. How Harry had known that this was what she had needed right then, she was sure that she would never know.

Leaning her head against her best friend's shoulder, she hummed thoughtfully. "Because he's alone," was her final conclusion.

Harry offered her a sardonic scoff. "That's what happens when you're such a miserable bloody git all the time. I mean, he could at least _try_ talking to people. He might find that they actually talk back."

"Merlin save me from the ignorance of boys," she muttered with mock desperation, head tilting up as if in prayer.

Harry's pleased snort of laughter told her that she was beginning to imitate her old self again.

She continued a little more seriously, "What I mean, you utter _teaspoon_, is that he's on his own, emotionally. He's trapped – he's got no one close to him, and no way of dealing with the situation healthily. It's not right."

"I s'pose that's true. Malfoy wouldn't know mental stability if it hit him like a bludger to the face." He took a large gulp of his hot chocolate.

"Oh, please! As if you're one to talk," she chided softly. "Besides, think of everything he's gone through, Harry. He's had just as hard a time as most people have. Perhaps even _worse _than most, considering the kind of company he was forced to keep during the war."

_Images—_

_Of Bellatrix flashed before her eyes, sneering and shrieking and screaming vile, putrid things with vile, putrid breath;_

_Of Greyback slavering over her like a rabid dog over a juicy bone;_

_Of Wormtail, spineless and simpering and sneering;_

_Of Lucius Malfoy, his once cuttingly sharp mind driven into weakness and insanity, bedraggled and wrung out;_

_Of Voldemort, and Nagini…_

The scruffy haired wizard beside her seemed to come to the same dawning realisation beside her. "And I guess he never had proper friends here, huh? Just really thick, dull lackeys."

The witch nodded against his shoulder. "And even _they_'re gone, now. He's alone here, Harry."

"It's worse than sixth year," Harry concluded, and he sounded miserable at the revelation.

The frizzy haired girl belated realised that his Saving People Thing was beginning to whirr to life. _Good_, she thought wearily.

"It is," she agreed.

They sat in companionable silence as the October showers began to dwindle high above them. Somewhere off in the distance, the first bird could be heard, stirring from its nest.

Obviously thinking himself very witty, Harry eventually broke the serene atmosphere with a groan. "Oh, no..." he uttered in mock horror. "This... This is your new Spew, isn't it? _Isn't it_, Hermione?!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Hermione muttered, even though the words were perhaps a little subdued. "It's S. P. E. W., not _Spew_. What will it take for you to leave it alone?"

If he noticed that she never outright denied his claims, he at least had the courtesy not to bring it up again.

...

**A/N:** Please, everyone, I would really like to hear feedback on this story.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter – just a messed up mind.

**A/N:** I'm so sorry for the delay with this chapter. University has been hectic, and they've really upped the workload. That said, though, thank you so much to everyone that's commented since my last update! You have no idea how much I love you guys!

Singer for this chapter: Jake Bugg

**By Moonlight**

15

_Strange Creatures_

_There was a body crossing darkness, feet wrapped in the lace of fly wings. She stepped through the fading glow of dying eyes, never disturbing or damaging – merely skirting around them._

_His eyes went up, up, up to where she towered over him, and her eyes were multifaceted, a thousand shards of mirror lit up on the inside._

_As she reached his side, she lowered herself down, limbs crumpling around her and expression folding shut, flickering out._

_Their shoulders brushed, and in the silence, she opened her mouth to speak, but all that comes out was the quiet, static buzz-zz-z…_

…

It was strange.

The night after Granger's frankly confusing attempt to sit next to him, she brought with her a rather large book. She crossed the space, her nose buried in the pages as she sat down beside him. It was disconcertingly similar to the way Granger had been in his dream.

She was silent as she read, though, and Draco's eyes were drawn to her mouth, which twitched around the shapes of the words. The witch sat closer than the previous night – somehow the darkness wasn't so consuming, with her _Lumos_ lighting up the space.

He might have complained, but in the end he found his eyes slipping to half-mast, his usual thoughts dancing just out of reach, beyond the sputtering, stuttering light of her spell.

Draco's eyes burnt with contrast between bright and dark.

From the way she'd angled the huge book, he couldn't make out the contents of the book without making it obvious. He had the feeling she'd done it just to annoy him, the horrid little witch.

_Probably_, he decided with bitter tiredness, _something incredibly muggle._

All the better not to know.

…

The second night she came again, the thick tome was tucked beneath her arm. The wind whipped her hair into a static mess and the sky spit droplets of icy rain down at them.

She tucked herself down at his side – closer again than the previous night – took up her wand, and practiced a variation of silly little show charms, featuring pointless bluebell flames, fizzers and poppers.

Draco watched as she adjusted her hand movements, wordlessly testing different sounds and shades.

A firm jab forwards.

Red. _Crack_.

A little twist upwards at the end of the first loop.

Purple. _Pop_.

Two flicks to conclude.

Blue. _Ping_.

A downwards stroke precluding to the second loop.

Green. _Chime_.

A tight spiral of the wand tip, in place of a swish.

_Nothing_.

He watched her eyes tighten after repeating the process a second time.

And then again.

And again.

Once she'd decided that she was doing something wrong, she referred to the large book, flicking through until she came to a dog-eared page.

Draco grimaced at the fold. Really, how could she be so uncouth?

The Slytherin didn't say a word though, as she resumed her reading, occasionally stopping long enough to look up and retry the charm.

By the time that she clambered to her feet and left him there, the pages of the old book were dotted and wrinkled by the spitting rain.

…

When, on the third night, Granger pulled the damned book out from beneath her jumper and into the line of the bitter cold rain – heavier than it had been previously – Draco gritted his teeth.

"You're damaging the pages," he said, his voice a husky whisper, almost lost in the pounding rain. He cleared his throat.

"I'll use a drying spell," Granger said dismissively, eyes flicking across the pages.

"Idiot," he grumbled, teeth tight. "Just because you use a drying spell, it doesn't mean the book won't be ruined."

The Gryffindor hummed noncommittally.

"Granger!" Draco snapped, annoyed at being ignored. "Put the book away, would you."

She shushed him.

His lips curled back.

"You muggleborn _simpleton_," he hissed, prodding her sharply in the upper arm.

She jumped and turned to look at him, eyes blank but mouth turned down at the corners. "What?"

"Don't you have _any_ respect for books? The rain will make the ink smudge and the paper crinkle, whether you dry it out or not!"

"Oh, do hush, Malfoy. I'm trying to work something out."

With a sound of frustration, he reached over and tugged the cover of the book shut.

There was a moment of quiet, in which they both stared at the closed tome.

The impudent witch, eyebrows rising as she met his eyes, pulled it open again, this time at a random page.

"_You annoying_—"

He pushed it closed.

Granger shooed his hand away and reopened it. "You're being ridiculous—" she began, but Draco was shoving it shut, even as Granger's _Lumos_ fizzled out.

There was a huff of warm breath in the sudden darkness.

And then the fluttering of pages.

_Horrid little_—!

She couldn't even _read_ in the dark! It was as if she were doing this just to antagonise—

"I swear I could _hex _you," he declared and he yanked his wand from his pocket and lit the space.

Her eyes sparkled briefly as he made to close the book, the corners creased into a smile as she peered up at him through her damp, spiked lashes. Was she—

Was she laughing at him?

Draco paused.

The moment caught and twisted oddly, like time was being stretched out around them.

A huge raindrop burst against his temple, and he pulled back, frowning darkly.

A single blink, and Granger's eyes were hollow again.

And suddenly they were back at the top of the astronomy tower, the stones slick and icy cold, water seeping through his trousers and his cloak, and Granger's frizzy hair sticking to pale, freckled cheeks.

His fingers were stiff and numb around his wand. His cheeks stung with cold.

Everything in him told him to withdraw.

This was too uncomfortable.

This was too strange.

Her face was a familiar, indifferent mask. She watched him silently, rain catching in her hair, on her skin and against the fabric of her huge, baggy green jumper.

He almost – _almost _– got up and left.

It was a long moment before he reached out slowly with his free hand, lifting the front of the book and shutting it firmly.

His hand lingered on top of the cover, fingers pressed lightly against the wet, worn leather.

The Slytherin couldn't look away from her face – waiting for that elusive glimmer of humour to return to her eyes.

She held his gaze, expression flat even as her cheeks began colour.

He found could barely breathe.

And then, suddenly, the horrid little witch poked him with the tip of her wand.

Drawing away with a yelp, he rubbed his wrist and bristled angrily, ready to send a stinging hex straight back at her.

Only, she was up on soggy, squelching socks, and rather briskly walking away.

"Goodnight, Malfoy," she called over her shoulder, as she pulled the door shut behind her.

"Impudent, frizzy haired mud— muggleborn," he muttered, even as his wand sputtered out and he was left in the cold, wet darkness.

Long after she'd left, he stayed there; his usual fears lingered just out of reach.

All he could think about was smiling eyes and blushing cheeks.

In hindsight, 'strange' didn't even begin to describe it.

...

**A/N:** Whether you're enjoying this story or not (constructive criticism is always appreciated, too) comments really are a great help reigning in that ever whimsical mistress, Muse.

(Edited 25th Jan 2017)


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter – just a messed up mind. And huge update delays. Oops.

**A/N:** There aren't words to describe how grumpy I am with myself, for making everyone wait so unreasonably long for a new chapter. If anyone's still reading, then all I can say is that I hope that the next few chapters make up for it.

Also, over the last few days I've gone back and edited the first 15 chapters of the story – there may still be mistakes and the writing's likely to be shoddy (at best), but hopefully it's a little neater now!

Singer for this chapter: Mars Argo

**By Moonlight**

16

_Tired Today_

Hermione rubbed her hands across her face, trying in vain to ease the heaviness of her eyelids. The parchment in front of her – a no doubt botched attempt at the Charms essay Flitwick had set them earlier in the week – remained largely untouched.

The Common Room was far more raucous than most nights, thanks to the announcement at dinner that the first Hogsmeade trip of the school year would be commencing on the following weekend.

Though the shouting and laughter was more than a little over the top in her opinion, she supposed that it made a pleasant change from the usual tears and solemn silence. Even the oldest students were buzzing at the news.

There was an exploding snap tournament among a large portion of the younger year groups on the floor in front of the fireplace, and a bunch of the fifth and sixth year girls were dancing to Celestina Warbeck's classic hits on a wizarding wireless someone had snuck in at the beginning of the year.

Seamus, Dean, Neville and the remaining seventh year boys were playing some kind of drinking game with what was supposed to be Butterbeer, but judging by the red cheeks and hearty laughter, was likely something much stronger.

Even Luna and Ginny were joining in with the celebrations, for Merlin's sake, animatedly discussing the latest publication of Witch Weekly with Parvati from one of the couches. Parvati, of all people!

Apparently, Hermione was the only person in the entirety of the Gryffindor Common Room that wasn't about to implode with excitement at the prospect of trudging through a miserable, muddy village with hundreds of other students.

With a parting squint at the boys, who were playing a disturbingly upbeat (and, naturally, vicious) game of wizarding chess by her feet, Hermione gathered her things into her arms and trudged up the stairs to her dormitory.

She could hear the celebrations all the way upstairs – from the looks of things, very little sleep would be had by anyone until late into the night. Maybe, then , she would have some piece.

With a quiet sigh, Hermione dropped her parchment and quill down on top of her trunk and sprawled out across her bed.

She hadn't slept a wink the previous night after returning from the Astronomy Tower. The witch couldn't stop recalling the way her heart had beat a little faster when Malfoy had leant into her and very slowly slipped the large book shut in her lap. She'd been so close to him that she'd felt his breath wash over her damp cheeks – she could have counted the individual curl of long, blond lashes, had she wished.

When her stomach started to flutter again at the thought, she groaned and rolled over, pressing her face in her pillow.

Really, the very last thing that she needed right now was to start noticing that Draco Malfoy was, in fact, a male. And not an ugly one either, despite his pale pointiness.

…

After a couple of long, tedious hours spent lying on her bed with the curtains partially drawn, Hermione eventually gave up trying to sleep. Her thoughts were racing around her head at a mile a minute, and even through her usual blank haze, she couldn't help but feel fidgety.

Clambering to her feet and listening to the music and chatting that filtered up the stairs and through the closed door, Hermione debated staying put a little longer.

It was barely eleven o'clock, and all she wanted to do was make her way across the castle and up to the Astronomy Tower. She didn't want to sit around up here, unproductive and uncomfortable, and she certainly didn't want to struggle through her weariness, pretending that she was happy.

In the end, she grabbed her red fleece, pulled it on over the top of the uniform that she had yet to change out of, and slid her bare feet into a stripy pair of socks. She didn't want to have to deflect anyone's questions about where she was going, but the itch in her feet might drive her to insanity if she didn't leave.

Pausing only momentarily to consider the huge book resting on her nightstand – the same one she'd toted along with her over the last half-dozen nights in order to help with her Charms exam – she hauled it up under one arm and traipsed out of the room.

The Common Room was emptier now, the younger students having apparently headed up to bed while she was wallowing away upstairs. All of the older students had gathered around in a rough circle, and were apparently attempting to play Truth or Dare.

'Attempting' being the key word as from the looks of things, everyone was in various stages of intoxication, and no one seemed to have a proper grasp of the rules. It wasn't a particularly common game in the wizarding world, and so Hermione had to wonder who had suggested it.

From the looks of things, the group was drinking whether they had succeeded in their challenge or not – which probably went a long way to explaining why everyone was drunk.

Currently, Seamus was in the centre of the circle, backside stuck out awkwardly behind him, his tie around his forehead, and what looked like lipstick smeared all over his face. The dance routine that he was doing to an awfully sung rendition of the classic, 'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love' was so bad it looked a little like he was being held under the _Cruciatus_. Still, everyone cheered and hollered as he finished the routine, and Neville clapped him on the back, offering him another drink as the Irish boy re-joined the circle.

For a long moment Hermione stood in the doorway, watching the silliness and wondering why it was that Malfoy could make her throat tickle with laughter just by being his usual grumpy self, while her housemates' antics did nothing.

Shrugging the thought off, she edged around the group and slipped out the portrait hole, grateful that they were all well and truly distracted by trying to persuade Parvati to tell them whom it was that she currently fancied.

Aside from having to duck into a classroom to avoid Professor Sinistra on the second floor, the route proved to be just as quiet as it usually was, despite it being so early in the night. Hermione couldn't help but think that back before the war, it had been a lot more difficult to avoid patrolling teachers. Or maybe it was just that she knew her way around better now, and moved more quietly.

Scaling the spiral staircase and edging it open to peer out onto the tower beyond, she was unsurprised to see that Malfoy wasn't there yet.

Luckily it was dry out tonight, though, and despite the rainfall earlier in the day, it wasn't even too cold.

Eventually she settled down in what she had come to think of as Malfoy's spot, sinking onto the cold floor and resolutely ignoring the way that the damp soaked into her socks and the hem of her skirt.

Eyes aching and limbs oddly heavy, she settled the tome over her crossed legs and opened it on one of the pages she'd folded down at the corner.

The smell of moist rock and moss helped her relax back against the balustrade, her pounding head suddenly a lot easier to deal with now that she was away from her noisy housemate. It was peaceful, here. And it was still, in a way that forced her to be, too - it calmed her manic thoughts to a quiet hum.

Before she knew it, Hermione was drifting in and out of sleep, the words on the page swimming across her eyes and the far-off sound of rustling trees soothing her nerves.

She barely even noticed when the door at the far end of the tower opened a short while later, and someone sat down beside her – just that suddenly, she wasn't quite as cold as she had been.

It helped, of course, that the hand guiding her head to a shoulder was gentle.

The citrusy aftershave she breathed in from the collar of his cloak was an oddly comforting smell.

...

**A/N:** Reviews are a great way of distracting me from my coursework – please feel free to bother me! Who knows, I might even get around to posting another chapter before I go to bed tonight.

I have a feeling you guys'll like what I have planned for the next chapter….


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter – just a messed up mind (but I own that with pride).

**A/N:** Thank you again so much to those of you who reviewed. It really did make my day!

Singer for this chapter: Elbow

**By Moonlight**

17

_The night will always win_

Despite an initial struggle with falling asleep when he returned from the Astronomy Tower, he managed to drift off in the early hours. He did dream – as always – but when he woke, it was only to a quiet buzzing in his ears. His throat was free of fangs and his breathing was even.

Brushing his teeth that morning, he'd stared at his reflection. He took in heavy lidded eyes, the almost invisible scruff of morning stubble on his chin, and hair that was far more ruffled than the majority of the world ever had the chance to see it.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting; he hadn't somehow miraculously changed overnight. But if he was honest with himself, what had happened the night before _had_ changed something in Draco.

The Slytherin had always been selfish – it was a fact that he'd long ago accepted about himself – and there wasn't a thing in the world that would ever change that. What belonged to him, he guarded almost jealously. His mother and father were at the very top of the list, though no one else had ever made it. He supposed that Snape, Crabbe and Goyle hadn't been far from it, but he'd never wanted to give them that privilege – had never wanted to let them in. Which wasn't such a huge loss, considering he didn't think any of them had wanted it, either.

Growing up, he'd the heir and only child of an extremely wealthy pureblood family, and had wanted for nothing at all. That had carried on through to Hogwarts, and as real problems had slowly leaked in to his cushy life, culminating in sixth year, his selfishness had festered. What he considered 'his' had come under threat, and he'd held his problems close instead of seeking help or guidance.

During the war, self-preservation had conquered all other thoughts, and then in the aftermath, he was left with his self-loathing and self-pity.

Even in returning to Hogwarts and trying to atone for his mistakes each night, it was all about _him, him, him_.

He knew that as sure as he knew his own name, and it was something he'd always accepted about himself. Draco had only ever sought to do the things that he wanted, with very little concerns for other people.

Except…

Except, he couldn't work out why he would want to see Granger reacting to him – _smiling, crying, shouting, laughing, anything_ – no matter how much he thought about it. Her blankness bothered him in a way that he couldn't put into words, but seeing her acting like a human again was hardly going to make him _happy_. In fact, it wouldn't serve Draco a purpose at all.

So why did it bother him so much?

Leaning down to rinse out his mouth, he didn't react at all when Zabini came in and settled at the sink beside him. He just returned the other young man's grunt of greeting with his own as he reached for his razor and shaving cream.

He was so absorbed in thoughts, he didn't think twice about the almost civil interaction until a lot later.

…

The first thing that he spotted when he stepped out onto the tower was Granger, hunkered down in his spot with the same damn book from the night before lying open in her lap.

He could tell that something was off by the lax way her hands curled against the pages, and by the lolling tilt of her head.

As he drew closer in the darkness, a weak _lumos_ lighting the open space, he peered gingerly down at her; insanely frizzy hair obscured her face from his view.

Gulping back the automatic burn of bile – she looked almost like a corpse, propped up against the parapet – he released a shaky breath and considered the witch for a long moment.

What was she doing up here so early? He hadn't expected her to emerge until much later, as she usually did. Surely she should be back in her common room, celebrating the trip to Hogsmeade with all of her obnoxious Griffindor friends.

And beyond that, why in Merlin's name was she _sleeping_? Didn't they have _beds _up there?

As if she'd heard that thought, she shifted against her stone, lifting her head with a small sigh and a grimace of discomfort before she settled again.

Draco half imagined her shifting too far to one side and accidentally falling down over the edge—

The Slytherin jerked forwards at the thought of her unwittingly killing herself. Pulling his cloak tighter and lowering himself to the floor beside her, he remained ramrod straight where he sat and refused to look at the muggleborn.

It took approximately thirty seconds before he caved. He turned to study her face, disturbed by how small and washed out she looked.

—_a flash of green light—_

_—__hollow, glassy eyes—_

Fingers curling into fists, the young man closed the space between them until their upper arms almost touched. This close, the angle of her head looked unnatural, and her slack features made him feel ill.

Jaw clenching as humiliation and common sense warred with panic, he closed the last of the space between them, pressing his side against hers. He stared resolutely ahead.

Even through their layers, he could feel it: she was warm.

His pounding heart began to slow and his tense muscles relaxed marginally. Draco knew he'd feel like an idiot for his overreaction later, but right then all he could do was feel relieved.

The witch shifted against him and, still staring up at the night sky, he responded to her restlessness on instinct alone.

He reached up with his right hand and pressed his palm against the side of her face, fingers sinking into frizzy curls as he rolled her heavy head down onto his shoulder.

Granger snuffled and turned her face in to the collar of his cloak, her cold temple tucked just under his jaw.

At the first puff against his neck he tensed, tugging his hand away from her hair and instead gripping his thigh.

Salazar, he already wished he'd just left her to fall off the edge…

…

What he assumed was about an hour after he'd apparently grown a conscience, her useless bloody book began slipping off of her lap.

Draco scrabbled madly with the tome, catching it before it could fall to the ground with a '_THUD_' and inevitably woke her up.

With it in his lap and his wand in his hand, still lit with a soft _lumos_, he did the only thing that made sense, and began flipping through the pages, paying special attention to the sides that she had folded down.

Before he knew it, he was immersed in a chapter on the mechanics of more challenging charms, tired eyes skimming over passage after passage. The section that describing the coloration and form of the corporeal Patronus in relation to blood magic was particularly interesting…

Drawing long legs up, he propped the book against his thighs and tapped his index finger repeatedly against his lower lip as he read. Draco paid no mind to the witch's breathing changing, or her weight moving slightly against his arm.

He was so caught up in the topic, in fact, that he didn't even notice when a pair of hazel brown eyes opened, blearily gazing up at him.

...

**A/N:** As always, extra feedback for me might get an extra chapter for you! So… Let me know what you guys think?


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter – just a messed up mind (but I own that with pride).

**A/N:** As always, thank you so much to everyone that reviewed last chapter. I love reading all of your comments!

To reply to my two anonymous reviewers from last chapter: Guest – thank you! I'm really glad you're enjoying it! Kirsten – honestly, Draco isn't falling for Hermione yet – and neither is she falling for him. They've only been even mildly tolerant of one another for a month in their world, and they've got years of resentment behind them. They'll become friends before they become love interests, but… there is attraction there, and you'll all see the romance coming from a mile away. Just be patient and enjoy the ride. ;)

Singer for this chapter: The Cardigans

**By Moonlight**

18

_Afterall_

Citrus and warmth.

The blunt curve of his thumbnail, rough and chewed – not what she'd expected – pressing into his lower lip.

A pale beauty mark hidden under the sharp cut of his jawline.

Long, light eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

Pink-tipped ears.

Hermione studied what she could of her Slytherin nemesis, eyes tracing over the smallest details like they might tell her why she had been sleeping against his shoulder.

Unfortunately, the only revelations that she was having were in regards to the fact that, _oh yes_, he really _did_ smell rather nice. Like lemon and peppermint and dittany leaves.

His complexion was great, too.

She found herself wondering about his skincare routine, and decided to rather hastily nip _that_ in the bud. There were some things that she really didn't need to think about in regards to Malfoy.

Eyes flicking down to the book, she studied the double page spread on the Patronus charm, and found her damnable curiosity piquing once again.

The academic in her was most ardently intrigued about whether or not Malfoy could cast the charm. Hermione recalled Professor Flitwick's explanation that very few wizards and witches that practiced dark magic could perform the Patronus. Was that the case with Malfoy?

The Slytherin, apparently having finished reading for a moment, leant his head back against the cold stone like he was trying to digest the words.

Before she could stop herself, the witch opened her mouth and murmured throatily, "Mine's an otter."

Malfoy almost jumped out of his skin.

Swallowing down a surprised huff of amusement at the way he clutched his chest and yelped – actually _yelped_ like a kicked crup – Hermione lifted her head just enough to meet his fierce glare.

She waited patiently to see if he'd pull away from her like she was infectious, or shout her down for startling him, but the silence between them drew out. The blonde's glare shifted into a grimace, teeth gritted and eyes guarded as he returned her analysing look.

Hermione didn't know what he was looking for in her face, or whether he found it there after all; he turned his head away very slowly, and made no attempt to acknowledge her when she leant her head back against his shoulder.

He was so tense, he might as well have been screaming at her to move; he remained fixedly mute.

"My patronus is an otter," she repeated in a murmur, trying her best not to fidget. Something had changed between them again – some kind of balance that just wouldn't stop shifting in this past month – and it made her fingers twitch restlessly in her lap.

"I heard you the first time," he snapped.

Hermione blinked at the way his voice reverberated against her ear. "Oh," she replied intelligently.

Lapsing back into quietness, she felt the way he relaxed by slow increments, and she unwittingly responded in kind. Her breathing grew deeper, and her eyelids began to feel heavy again.

Just when the witch thought she might end up drifting off, Malfoy whispered so low that she wouldn't have heard him, had she not been as close as she was. "I don't know what mine is."

Blinking the tiredness away, Hermione hummed a thoughtful sound. "Most people don't."

He ignored that, and asked instead, "When did _you_ learn, then?"

"Fifth year," she said, and resisted the urge to press her cold nose against his bare throat. He was like a hot water bottle… "Harry taught me."

The second she'd said her best friend's name, she knew she'd made a mistake.

He turned to stone against her side. Apparently the reminder of who exactly was snuggled up to him was a little too much for him.

_So much for him being relaxed_, she thought with a quiet sigh. Recognising the way he'd hunched in on himself, the Gryffindor pulled herself upright, leaning back against the parapet and giving him some space. _Better not push my luck_.

The frigid night air made her warm cheek throb, and roused her a little from her sleepiness. Merlin, though, it was cold out here.

To try and cover the awkwardness, Hermione cleared her throat and explained, "He taught a whole load of us how to, so we wouldn't all fail our exams as the end of the year. It's a difficult spell to cast – probably the one I've had the most trouble with." Surprising, really, considering the ease with which she'd Obliviated her parents—

"Yes, yes, we all know how _amazing _and _noble_ Saint Potter is. No need for the reminder, thanks—"

"Not that it matters whether you know how to cast it or not," she said, speaking loud enough to override not only Malfoy, but her own thoughts too. "You could cast it every day for years, and then wake up one day and just…" She shrugged.

He looked at her then, brows drawn low. It was such a thoughtful expression that Hermione had to fight against the urge to pull further away from him.

A smile began to curl at the edges of his lips – a bitter, humourless thing that told her he'd worked her out. Hermione's heart beat harder, but all she could do was stay there, mind blank and mouth dry.

She felt like she'd been stripped bare, by the time that Malfoy spoke up.

"You can't cast it anymore, can you." It wasn't a question.

Her fingers clenched against her thighs; she breathed slow, measured breathes and looked anywhere but his face.

As soon as her stomach unknotted enough for her thoughts to clear, she said very softly, "Not… at present, no."

A quiet scoff; Hermione twitched.

"I knew it," he said. "I _knew_ it."

The Gryffindor drew her shoulders higher, her control of her breathing faltering. "What?" she whispered in spite of herself.

"You really _are_ just as messed up as I am." His teeth glinted in the light of his _lumos_. "Aren't you, granger?"

He'd barely finished the sentence before she was up on her feet, almost throwing herself at the door.

Her insides burnt up,

her chest trying to crumple in

around every breath,

and all she could do was scrabble at the door handle;

yank it open so hard it rebounded against the wall with a deafening

_BANG_.

She ran.

Behind her, she was sure she heard laughter. It seemed that Malfoy's benevolence stretched only so far…

And she'd let her guard down.

_Stupid, stupid girl._

...

**A/N:** As always, although chapters are a little slower than I'd like due to huge university deadlines (I'm in the latter half of my final year now), I might just be inspired to post chapters quicker with a little extra incentive – reviews are the best payment for my work ;)


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